What Makes a Man
by JBHart
Summary: A/U When 18-year-old Nick Barkley hears a rumor about his father's infidelity, he rides to Strawberry to prove it wrong.
1. Chapter 1

Eighteen-year-old Nick Barkley sat astride his favorite mount, a feisty paint he called 'Horse' for lack of a better name-or more precisely in spite of his name. The moment his little sister Audra set eyes upon the animal, which had been a birthday present to _Nick_, she squealed and cried out that his name was to be Belle. Father approved, and the name stuck. So at home the horse was Belle, Nick had to put up with that, but here on the range, he was simply Horse.

So, riding out onto the ranch on Horse, Nick knew this afternoon would prove to be quite difficult, but he would get the job done. He had never failed in anything he was told to do, but why Father put him in charge of Bill Tennant was a complete mystery. Tennant had it in for him from the moment he set eyes on Nick back in the fall when he was hired. The older man was a constant thorn in Nick's side, always making rude comments when Nick was in earshot or gesturing to show his disdain in front of the other hands. Never around Father though. A man could only take so much. Something had to give, and it was going to be soon because Father had placed Nick in charge of clearing the north pasture. Tennant was on that detail and taunted Nick even more now that he had to call him boss.

Nick paused at the top of the ridge so he could oversee the progress of the clearing before going down. A few trees were felled, and only a handful of the men were at work. A small cluster of them stood around a small fire and for all appearances seemed to be drinking…and it wasn't coffee.

Mariano Montoya, Nick's friend since he could remember, rode up to him. "I was hoping I'd find you here."

"I'm glad you made it. Looks like Tennant has several of the men on his side."

"I can't believe he's doing this. He gets the best pay, the best bunkhouse, even the best food…your father has provided him with everything he needs and still he thinks he's better than you. He has no honor," Mariano said. "We have to do something."

"I am going to do something, and it's been a long time coming. Let's go." Nick nudged his spurs into Horse's flanks. "Come on Horse. Let's get down there."

"Belle. You still cannot say the name," Mariano seemed to derive joy in getting a rise from Nick no matter their circumstances. "Belle," he said in an aside to Horse, "Your master is a stubborn, stubborn man."

Nick gave Mariano a sharp glance. "I could use some support here. Back me up will you? No games."

"I'm with you, boss." Mariano dropped his jovial demeanor and slid completely into his poker face. "How's this?"

That satisfied Nick. "Perfect."

Nick rolled his shoulders to ease the tension. Mariano was two years older, but never questioned Nick on ranch matters. He enjoyed his work with the Barkley's and would do anything they required of him. Mariano was loyal. If only Bill Tennant had that kind of respect. He viewed Nick as a child, and Nick had tussled with him before. This would be the last time.

The men turned and watched them approach; one or two of them looked sheepish and drunkenly apologetic. Tennant faced Nick with his thumbs jammed into his waistband, his chest puffed out.

"Hiya _Boss._ We're taking a much needed break," he announced.

Nick leaned forward. "How long a break are you going to need, Tennant? From what I hear, you've been on break all afternoon. Get back to work."

Some of the men began to disperse and pick up their gear, but tentatively, as if waiting for Tennant's next move.

"You fellas going to let this kid order you around?" he said to them. "Let the big boss, Tom Barkley come down here, or is he too high and mighty to do the work hisself?"

Nick held his tongue, biting back an acidic retort. He tried to think of how Father would respond in this case, but no ideas came to him—only mounting anger. "I'm in charge of this project," he said. "You take orders from me. If you refuse to do the work we pay you for, we don't need you." Nick glanced at the trees still standing that should have been removed already. "From the looks of it, I'd say you put in a half day's work. Go back to the office, take your pay, and leave."

"You trying to fire me, boy?"

Nick sat up straight. "I just did."

Tennant dropped his arms and loosened his stance, readied for a fight. "All hat, and no cattle. Git down off that hoss of yours and tell me to my face."

Never one to back down, Nick dismounted, and Mariano followed suit. "I hope you know what you're doing," he muttered.

Nick ignored his friend and stepped forward.

Tennant gestured at Mariano, who was a step behind Nick. "This aint your concern."

Mariano stood by his friend. "The Barkley's concerns are my concerns."

Nick moved within arm's length of Tennant. He said the words slowly, deliberately. "Grab your gear, and get out of here. You're fired."

"Look at you. Big ol' hat, big attitude. Born rich. You don't know what it's like to live on the edge. To have something pulled from underneath you. To lose everything you ever had, all because somebody else pulls the strings. I'm going to give you a taste of what it feels like."

"I don't know what your game is, but-"

"Ever been to Strawberry, kid?" Tennant said with a hard glint to his eye.

Everyone stopped what they were doing and watched the dialogue unfold.

"Nick." He corrected, anger welling up. His fists curled. And he felt the fool answering his question. "I've been there."

"Somebody lives there who looks a mite like you. A boy about thirteen." Tennant smiled. "Ever seen him?"

"What are you talking about?" Nick snapped.

"What am I talkin' about, he says!" Tennant was laughing now, trying to elicit a similar response from the men. "Don't you think he ought to know?"

"Shut up Bill," said one.

"Leave the boy alone," said another.

That word boy hit Nick hard, and he took another step toward his adversary. The men backed up and cleared the area for the brawl that was sure to come.

"Say it," Nick ordered.

Like the coward he was, Tennant's eyes never met Nick's for more than a second. He turned to his audience and laughed. "You got family in Strawberry, Nick," he announced. "Don't tell me you didn't know about your daddy's whore and her bastard son—"

Tennant was on his back in the dirt before Nick could even comprehend that his own fists had put the man there. Along with the blood, Tennant spit out a tooth. "You little—" He was on his feet and on Nick, both men's fists flying.

Nick held his own until Tennant got him on the ground and pressed his arm into his neck. "I'm tellin' you, boy. This is a man's world, and you aint big enough to be in it." He pressed so hard that Nick could no longer get air. He grasped the man's arm and maneuvered his leg to throw him off when Mariano appeared, pointing the barrel of a pistol at Tennant's ear.

"If you want to live, I suggest you let my friend go."

The pressure was off Nick instantly, and he drew in a much needed breath.

"I suggest too, that you hand over the knife."

Tennant glanced down at the bowie knife clasped in his right hand.

"Yes, that very one." Mariano held out his other hand to receive the weapon.

Tennant reluctantly handed it over.

"Imbécil," he said. "You have saved yourself a great deal of trouble."

Mariano holstered his gun and stepped back, allowing Nick to get up and gather in some of his dignity.

Nick tucked in his shirt and kept an eye on Tennant. "Get out of here," he said, knowing he had no more fight left in him, but putting up a front that told otherwise. "If you go now, you'll still get your pay."

Tennant looked like Nick felt. Both had given their all. It was over. For now.

"Go to Strawberry if you want to know what kind of man your daddy is."

Raged rushed into Nick's veins, and he started for Tennant again. "You filthy son-of-a—"

"Nick!" Mariano blocked him, grabbed his arm and stopped him from ripping the man's heart out.

Nick shoved Mariano, but his friend wouldn't budge nor let him go. "You're finished, Amigo," he said sternly, but only so Nick could hear. "You will fight another day."

Nick couldn't believe what was happening. He watched Tennant casually mount his horse. Before he rode off, he dropped a single answer to a question Nick would ask himself over and again. "The name of your brother…is Thomson."

Tennant rode off, and the men who had joined him in the work stoppage watched him go. "What are you standing around for?" Nick bellowed at them. "Either follow him…or get back to work."

The men finally picked up their tools and saws and started toward the trees that needed cutting. Nick flashed a furious look at Mariano and stormed to the trough where Horse was drinking. He tore into his saddlebag and pulled out a handkerchief, doused it in the water, and swiped the blood and dirt from his face. The water was cool, but it didn't help ease his temper. He heard Mariano's footsteps.

"You were supposed to back me up," Nick told him. The water stung the cut by his eye and he winced.

"What would you have me do? Two to one is not a fair fight. You know that," said Mariano.

"You stopped me from finishing. I could have had him."

"Maybe." Mariano said thoughtfully. "But he is a very dangerous man. He likely would have killed you."

Nick set his jaw. "_Never_ get in my way again."

The remark offended Mariano, the hurt was plain on his face. "Take this." He offered Tennant's bowie knife. "I am your friend, Nick. I kept the fight even for you."

He did more than that. Nick knew well that Mariano kept Tennant from slicing him open. He couldn't have won that fight on his own. That very thought made him surlier than ever. "It's your trophy. You keep it." He turned and started toward Horse. The incident was an embarrassment in so many ways. He owed Mariano his life, but he couldn't concede that fact now. It was more than his pride could bear.

Nick mounted Horse. "Hasta luego, _friend,"_ he said gruffly and spurred Horse more than he should have just to get out of everyone's sight as fast as he could. And damn it, that wouldn't look good either, but he couldn't help it. Everything was wrong and he couldn't imagine handling the situation in any other way. Father's good name was dragged through the mud. Such lies. _Such lies!_ Tennant must have planned on saying that all along. Must have been keeping that information for months, but why make up something like that? What could he possibly gain?

All Nick wanted to do was ride, anything to keep the questions from coming, because in truth, he feared what the answers might be.

Nick came home a few hours after dusk, much later than he was expected to and earlier than he wanted. He had exchanged the bloody and torn shirt from the fight for a clean one from his saddlebag, but a clean shirt, wrinkled and smelling of dust didn't change his appearance much, nor did it shed any light on his dark mood. With a swollen eye and a deepening bruise on his jaw, he knew he couldn't avoid the questions his family would have. He looked as if he'd fallen under a stampede, felt that way, too.

After stabling Horse, he took his time getting to the house. He shoved his hands in his pockets, worried the coin he found there, and studied the fine mansion in which he grew up. His roots were here, his identity when he woke up this morning was rock solid. Just as the foundation of the beautiful home he was about to enter, a home that was now softly aglow inside. Lamplight by the front windows, he knew were kept lit for him. The youngsters would be in bed by now, Father in his study, Mother waiting up.

He'd never known anything else. Never considered what life might be like for anyone outside this perfect world. He never had to think about it before. Now he was forced to consider despicable ideas about himself and the man he idolized all of his life.

None of the lies could possibly be true. Nick muttered a curse. He hated himself for even doubting his father's integrity. The man who built this house, who was the very cornerstone of his family and this prosperous ranch—his honor was indisputable.

No, not a word Tennant said could be true.

He stepped onto the wide, stone, porch and placed a hand on one of its strong white columns, and drew a deep breath. The aroma of oak burning in the fireplace and the faint scent of gardenia came to him. Nothing had changed…really. This was the same house, and he was still the same Nick Barkley who left this morning. He just had to shake his mood, and things would be as they were.

Even though it would make no difference to his appearance, he pushed his hand through his tousled hair and entered the house.

The warmth came to him instantly and began to melt away the cold of the night that covered him. "Nick," Mother said, relief evident in her voice as she entered the foyer to greet him. "Where have you been? You missed dinner—"

He closed the door. Her face fell when he turned to her, but he was ready with his response. "It's nothing, Mother."

Her mouth drew into a thin line. "I knew you ran into trouble. I was about to send your father out to look for you."

She reached up to touch his face, but Nick pulled back. "It really is nothing."

"I can see that," she said dryly. "Was it Tennant?"

Nick brushed off her concerns. "We had a disagreement. I handled it."

He glanced over at Father when he sauntered out of the study. The big man still wore his vest and probably had been working in his study the whole time Nick was out. It was his own method of waiting up for his son to come home. He took in Nick's rough appearance, his eyes giving him a sharp appraisal. "Is the north pasture cleared?"

"Yes, sir, for the most part," Nick replied. "I checked on it a few hours ago. The job should be completed by tomorrow."

"Puts us a day behind schedule, but we can adjust the plans." He glanced at Mother. "Have Silas boil a pot of coffee."

Nick followed his father to the study. Oil lamps burned brightly and surveys were open on his fine oak desk. Father took the tall leather chair and made a few pencil marks on the maps.

"I suppose you ought to know, sir, that I fired Bill Tennant."

"I gathered as much from your appearance." Father's blue eyes were like hard glass and he gazed at Nick with a raised brow that made him feel as if the man could see right into his soul. "Is there something else you want to tell me?" The man never let something slip by him.

Nick had never told him a lie before, at least not the kind of lie that would create an impenetrable wall between them. What Tennant was saying…Nick couldn't bear to repeat, so he managed the truth…just a bit. "It was a matter of honor, and since it's over and done with, I'd rather not talk about it." After he spoke, Nick discovered he was pacing and realized that his nervous fingers might wear his black hat into lint if he didn't settle down. He placed the hat gently on a peg by the door and calmed his appearance by taking a seat in front of the desk. If he was telling Father it was over. He had better play the part.

Father still wilted him with that impenetrable stare, and Nick slumped, raking a hand across his face.

"The matter hasn't rested with you yet," he said. He clasped his hands on the desk in front of him. "The trouble couldn't have been with the work. I've seen you handle the men in tougher situations, and they didn't rile you as much."

"Tennant was saying things I didn't much like," Nick admitted. "Personal things about my family that he had no business saying."

"He was testing you."

Nick let out a sharp laugh. "He tested me alright, and now he's out."

Father opened a wooden box to his left, releasing the pungent scent of tobacco, and filled his pipe. Nick was grateful Father found something else to focus on instead of him. After a few puffs of the pipe, Father spoke. "Son, I'm getting old. I can't run the ranch as I used to. You're my right hand. One day you'll be running this ranch. That means men are going to test you, to see what you're made of. It's a part of the business."

"I know."

"Tennant needed firing."

"And you wanted me to do it." Nick sighed, and ran a finger along the curve of the fine wooden armrest.

"If you intend to be the boss you have to do things you don't want to do. And most of the time you'll have to work out the problems without using your fists."

The corner of Nick's mouth ticked up as the anger lit anew. He had defended Tom Barkley's honor, and the man knew nothing of it. "Fists got the message through good enough…but I see where you're going. You think I'm a hothead."

"I know you are." Father released a deep laugh—one that expressed pride in his son. "Your temper can be an asset in this business, if you can control it. Use it to your advantage."

A soft knock came at the door. Silas with the coffee and thank God-biscuits. Nick took a warm biscuit and slathered on the butter. The first bite made all the pain he'd experienced that day, disappear.

Father smiled. "Let's take a look at the surveys. I want your input on these plans."

And so, father and son discussed plans for a new corral and stable and a new fence line along the north pasture. Everything in the Barkley household was as it should be.

Two hours or so later, the two men called it a night, and Nick felt satisfied that he could put himself fully into the future of the ranch for a while. It wasn't until Father went to bed that Nick realized the questions Tennant raised earlier still bothered him.

He headed upstairs to his room, and Mother stepped out of hers, shutting the door gently. She wore a long flowing robe and carried a lamp. She met her son at the top of the stairs and took a good look at him. Her delicate brows furrowed, and she set the lamp on a small table beside the railing.

She gestured to the settee by the table. "Sit."

"Mother, I'm tired."

"I haven't had a good look at you since you've been home. It's a mother's prerogative."

Her eyes looked sharp and reiterated her point. _Sit._

And he did. He slapped his hands on his knees and moved to get up again. "Mother, I really don't-"

She grasped his arm and that was it. He let her look him over. "Now really, Nick, you're going to have a scar under your eye. You should have come home much sooner so I could take care of that."

"A battle scar. I like it."

"You'll want to get married won't you? One day?"

"Maybe."

"Won't you want to at least appear to be a civilized human being? No more fighting."

Nick made a derisive noise. "Are we through yet?"

Gene's door creaked open, and he came slowly out of his room in his night shirt, rubbing his eyes. "I heard noises." His eyes widened when he took Nick in and then came a sharp intake of breath. "Nick's been fighting again!" the boy said gleefully, smiling from ear to ear. "Momma—"

"Hush now, Eugene," said Mother. "Go back to bed."

Gene instantly obeyed, but walked backward toward his bedroom. "What's the other fellow look like?"

"Gene! March!"

Seeing the commanding look in her eyes Gene whirled around . "Yes Ma'am." After the boy shut himself in his room, Mother turned to Nick in her reproving, but gentle manner. "He looks up to you, Nick. He sees the man you're becoming and will follow your example."

"That's a load on my shoulders, Mother," Nick replied. "Thanks for that."

"It's the truth."

"Doesn't Jarrod carry any of that weight?" he asked. "He's about as good as an example I can think of."

"That isn't fair, Nick. Jarrod's been gone now for two years. He's making his own way in the world. You know why I'm telling you this."

"Yeah. You want me to be more like him." Nick waved a hand.

"No. I'm not saying that at all. Don't be difficult."

"All right," he relented. "I'm here at home, and I need to be a good man for Gene's sake."

"It isn't just for Gene," she said, "The way you say it sounds like a burden."

"Isn't it?" Nick looked at his hands, saw by the lamplight the bruises and cuts that were evidence to how he made his own way. Not like Jarrod, the lawyer, whose hands never looked like this. Nick wanted to hide them, but Mother had already seen. "What makes a good man, Mother? Tell me."

"I think you know."

"I'd like to hear it from you."

"Well," she said thoughtfully, clasping her hands together in her lap. "A good man perseveres. He knows the difference between right and wrong and stands by his convictions. He considers the consequences of his actions—"

"Father's a good man, isn't he?" He said it without thinking. "I mean…he _is._"

She placed her soft hand over his. "Nick, what troubles you?"

"I want to be like him." He bit his lip, and shook his head. "but it sure is hard." His voice was raspy, weak. He cleared his throat. He didn't want to talk anymore for fear of losing himself to emotion.

"You are like him, in so many ways."

_Like another son in Strawberry?_

"I hope so," Nick said quickly to dispel the thought. "I want to be the man he needs me to be. I want to live up to his expectations." He wondered if Mother detected the doubt he could hear in his own words.

"You will, son. Believe that." She tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. "It's been a long night."

"Sure has."

She stood and bent to kiss him on the forehead, cupping his cheek in her hand. Nick closed his eyes and released a sigh. How much he needed just the simple love his mother gave. "Good night," she said.

"Good night, Mother."

He sat for a long while, there by the lamplight, wanting to hold on to the warm feeling she had given him, but darkness crept in and doubts soon grew. He leaned over and turned out the light.

Lying there in the dark in his bed, Nick couldn't sleep. He was dead tired, so much so that his whole body ached. Some of the soreness was from the fight, but he didn't regret any of it. Tennant was gone. That meant something. And then there was Mariano, his best friend since childhood. He would have to mend things with him. He would see him in the morning. Mariano would understand. He had to. That left only the questions. Thomson in Strawberry. Where had that idea come from?

In the moonlit shadows, Nick's mind travelled back to those years when father went to oversee the mines in Strawberry. The entire family had gone there once with him and he and Jarrod had been a few times after that, but eventually it was just Father who went, sometimes for days, sometimes weeks. Nick remembered a time or two wondering why Father stopped taking Jarrod or him. The boys would have understood a great deal by following him on those trips and learning about the mining business. It had been a niggling question even back then as to why the boys no longer accompanied him on those trips, but eventually they let it go.

Strawberry was a dead town, had always been even when the mine was in full operation. A woman in Strawberry. The very idea was ludicrous. Father would never—even if-

_Impossible._

Mother had stood by him all these years. The idea that Father would hurt her in this way was inconceivable. They were all lies made up by a disgruntled employee, nothing more…but Nick's mind still worked at it.

He could settle the matter conclusively, though. It would be easy enough to do.

Nick threw off the covers and got to his feet. "It's a stupid idea," he muttered. "I can't—" But even as he argued with himself against it, a plan took form in his mind. He paced to the open window, pressed his hands on the cool sill, and looked out. Across all of that vast darkness that covered the valley, Strawberry was waiting, and no more than a day's ride. Nick could go there, just to have a look-see. He would prove Tennant was lying about everything, because the boy simply wouldn't be there.


	2. Chapter 2

Nick's plan started to jell after he put a good deal of thinking on it last night and finally achieved some rest. Four hours of sleep weren't too bad, he considered as he broke into a wide yawn and scratched his scalp. He discovered a sore spot from the fight that he hadn't noticed yesterday. He dragged himself out of his warm bed and went to a mirror to try to get a look at the new lump just behind his hairline.

He leaned over the dresser and parted his hair. Yep. Solid goose egg. It was a good one too. He shrugged, straightened, and ran his fingers through his thick black hair to put it back in some sort of order. He studied his reflection for a moment. The area around his right eye wasn't really black. It was pink in color and only slightly swollen. The scar that Mother fretted over was hardly a scratch. He'd been worse off. He'd put up a good fight, except for the moment when Mariano stepped in.

Nick hadn't seen that knife on Tennant. Hadn't seen it coming. His mirror image scowled at him. Accused him. _Tennant really had you, didn't he?_ _He would have killed you_. Disgust came over Nick at that very likely possibility.

He cast his eyes from the mirror not wanting to examine any further than the superficial results of the fight—like that scar. He jerked open a drawer and rummaged through it for clothes.

"It's another day," he muttered as if the image could listen. "I'll do better next time. Next time, I won't lose control. I'll—use my words."

That made him pause. Those were Father's words, not Nick's. He glanced at himself in the mirror again.

He didn't resemble Father so much. He took more of his looks from Mother's side. The men were more dark than fair in her family, so he didn't have to be exactly like Father in temperament either. By nature, he was rough. Nothing wrong with that. He broke into a wide smile, suddenly proud of his rugged appearance and attitude. "No, Nick. You won't do better next time, will you?" He shook his head and started to get dressed. "Nope! Not on your life."

Well, that put him in a cheerful mood. He quickly dressed and went down to breakfast.

_

Nick buttoned his shirt as he descended the staircase. If Audra caught him she would sniff and reprimand him for being indecent, but the little tyrant was nowhere to be seen this morning. He smelled the hickory scent of bacon frying up and the warm, welcome aroma of coffee. He whistled softly, and felt pretty confident about the day. He would help the men finish clearing the north pasture. He'd work until nightfall if he had to and then on Saturday, he'd make a quick ride to Strawberry, have a look around and probably be back that evening. That might be rushing things, but he could stretch the trip through Sunday if he called it a fishing weekend. Heck, since he wouldn't find the boy Tennant spoke of, he might even_ make_ it a fishing weekend and bring back a few trout.

Gene brushed past him in his rush down the stairs, making Nick's foot turn. He put a hand on the railing so as not to trip. "Whoa, boy," he said. "Where's the fire?"

"In the kitchen." Gene turned as he made the bottom floor. "Audra's cooking. I want to make sure to get some of the good food Silas made before it runs out." He paused a moment and studied his big brother. "Boy, you sure took a walloping yesterday," he announced. "I bet the other guy has _two_ black eyes!"

"You better believe it!" Nick winked. "I knocked his tooth clean out."

"I knew it!" Gene brightened. "Will you teach me how to fight?"

Nick's grin vanished. "Oh. Well. Maybe another day, huh?"

"Soon." Gene continued to the dining room.

Lately, Nick noticed changes taking place in his younger brother. He was getting taller, standing a little straighter. He was more sure of himself. _He does want to be like me,_ Nick mused. Maybe Mother was right. He needed to think more about his actions. Nick should strive to be the man his family needed him to be. His gait slowed as he straightened the cuffs that had suddenly become too tight. He slid a finger under each to loosen them. Now he felt sorry again—for everything he seemed to do wrong. His stomach churned. Too much thinking before breakfast could sure give a man indigestion.

_

He entered the room where the food was set. Gene had already taken his place at the table. Mother was there too, looking resplendent in her blue morning dress as if she were ready for a day of shopping in town. She sat in her usual place by Father's chair at the head of the table, a chair which was at this moment empty.

"Good morning, Mother," Nick said, lifting a crispy slice of bacon from the silver tray at the center of the table. His mouth watered at the mere thought of biting into it.

"Mr. Nick," said Silas. He poured the coffee and shot Nick a look. One that said he'd caught him taking food in the past "You need to wait until all of the family gets here."

Nick glanced at mother to see what she thought. She was reading a small pamphlet, not paying the slightest attention to either of them. He raised the tasty morsel to his lips.

"Put down that bacon," Mother said as she turned the pamphlet over. She tapped her chin. "I didn't see anything in the rules about the age of the contestant. Did you, Silas?"

Still watching Nick, Silas said, "No ma'am. I sure didn't."

Reluctantly, Nick dropped the bacon on his plate and sat. "What are you reading, Mother?" he asked.

"A list of rules for a cooking contest Audra wants to enter. They hold it in San Francisco every year."

_"A cooking_ contest?" he said. "In San Francisco? Isn't it a little sudden?"

"Not really," she put the pamphlet on the table. "Your father and I have decided to go to San Francisco. We're leaving tomorrow-for a few days anyway. Jarrod asked us to come and see the law offices where he works and we thought we would combine the two."

Nick frowned. "Why didn't I know about it?"

Mother glanced discretely over her shoulder toward the kitchen then back to Nick. "Audra wanted to do this so badly. I thought she wasn't old enough. I've never seen a girl her age enter a contest of this size, but your father saw how much she wanted it and—"

"He _has_ tasted her cooking, right?"

"Now Nick. She's only eleven."

"Going on twelve!" announced Audra as she swept into the room with a wide tray, yellow curls bouncing.

"Your birthday was last month," Nick told her.

She stuck out her tongue.

"Audra!" Mother reprimanded.

"I'm sorry, Mother," Audra said sweetly. "It's just that Nick is so... well, he just pulls the rudeness out of me. Honestly. I'll try not to do it again." She set the tray gently on the place Silas had cleared at the end of the table. "This is it," she said with an air of anticipation. "My winning entry."

She tore the white cloth from the tray.

No one responded for what Nick measured to be about three breaths. He had to break the ice. "What are they?"

Audra's face dropped. "Mother!" she implored. "Can't you make him be good?"

"Nick, please," Mother said. "Tell us about your entry, Audra."

Tactful, Nick thought. Mother encouraged her without revealing much of her true feelings. He admired that.

Audra clasped her hands in front of her and pretended she was addressing the judges. "My entry is based on a recipe that was handed down in my family for generations. One would think that biscuits are too mundane, too every day to become a prize-winning recipe, but I beg to differ—"

Suddenly Nick's mouth went dry, and he could keep quiet no longer. "You made the…" He gestured with his index finger. " the uh…"

"Yes!" she announced triumphantly. "I've made the biscuits we are going to eat this morning."

It was like a blow to the gut. Nick stopped breathing for a moment. _No. _ He glanced imploringly at Silas.

Silas, who stood back to watch the presentation, shrugged as if to say, _Wasn't my idea._ He quickly vanished into the kitchen.

Breakfast without Silas's biscuits was like a day without sunshine. Nick hesitated to imagine what a breakfast _with Audra's_ biscuits would be like.

"They are lovely, Audra," complemented Mother.

It took a few moments for the boys to respond, but Gene beat Nick to it. "Good job, Sis! They look…they look…warm!"

Steam was indeed rolling off the lumps of hardened, brown dough. Maybe Nick could think of a truthful statement too. He thought hard about it.

"Well?" Audra asked. She raised a brow, just like father. Looking through him.

"I'll have two," he said quickly.

"I knew you couldn't resist!" Audra beamed and served two onto his plate. "I hope you like them. I'm going to enter the recipe at the state fair this year. That is, if they do well in San Francisco."

Nick cringed at the clumpy sound they made when they hit porcelain. He turned to Gene. "Um...pass the butter?" he said, clearing his throat.

Audra took her placed at the table and stirred sugar into her coffee. Her blue eyes lit up and her face broke into a dimpled grin as Father entered the room. "Good Morning, Papa."

"Good morning, Sunshine." He walked around the table to see her tray. "What have we here?"

"I made them myself," Audra said. "Try some and tell me what you think!"

Father picked one off the tray and bit straight into it. The man was a genius, and Nick again observed the social agility of his parents. "I must say, I've never had anything quite like it."

_Ha! _Nick thought, again with the noncommittal answer. Vague, yet inspiring. He bit into his bacon.

"I believe we have a winner Audra," Father continued. "You have outdone yourself. They are quite excellent. Put two more on my plate."

"Yessir!" she said nearly hopping out of her chair to serve him. She took his plate and plopped two of them down. Each sounding like cord wood dropped in a fire. Audra continued talking. "I was wondering if I should have added more baking powder—"

"Oh, no no no!" Father said, lifting his hand. "One mustn't tamper with perfection."

Audra blushed and handed him his plate.

"I think you have a good chance at winning."

Nick shut down. Now he could see the difference between encouragement and downright falsehoods. Oh well. It was Audra's dream. She should have it, even if it meant a lie or two. He tasted his coffee.

"Nick," Audra said.

He looked up and saw that his sister was staring at him, one hand on her hip. With her long golden hair and delicate features, his sister looked more like a young woman than a girl. She sure was pretty. He could picture how beautiful she would become in a few more years. He was going to have to keep a watch on those boys who would be calling. But right now, she wanted something from him. He sent her a questioning look.

"Aren't you going to at least try my biscuits?"

Nick looked at his plate. They seemed to be waiting. He thought he had gotten out of it.

"Yes," encouraged Gene with a sly grin. "You should try them."

"Well, I guess you're right," Nick said, trying to emulate Father as best he could.

Nick picked one up and the crusty outer shell seemed about as dry as he'd imagined. He squeezed it and like a rock, it held its shape. Just one bite.

There came a knock at the door.

He put the biscuit down and turned, throwing his arm over the back of the chair. He watched Silas open the door.

"Mariano," Nick said when he saw him. He put Audra's creation down. "Excuse me." Grateful for a chance to escape, he got up and went to the door.

"You're early," he began as he met his friend.

"Can we talk? Outside?"

Puzzled, Nick said, "Sure." He stepped onto the porch and for more privacy they moved away from the open windows of the house. "What's wrong? I hope it's not about yesterday, I wanted to come talk to you about that—"

Mariano reassured him. "As I told you, I am always your friend, though you can really make it trouble for me, no?"

Nick relaxed a bit, but was still concerned about the visit. They usually met on the job. "What's wrong?" He gestured at the hat in his friend's hands. "You're gonna wear out the brim of that fine Stetson."

"I received some news yesterday. I'm going to speak to your father about it." Mariano hedged. "But I wanted to tell you first."

Nick put his hands on his hips. His brows furrowed. "I'm listening."

"My mother got a telegram yesterday afternoon. From my Uncle in Santos Tomas."

"Santos Tomas?" Nick said. "Isn't that where your family's from?"

"That's right. Things aren't so good for my family there. My uncle has taken ill and needs me to help run his ranch. It's not a ranch like yours, but he's proud of it, you know?"

Nick was crestfallen. "You're coming back, aren't you?" He couldn't imagine working this ranch without Mariano at his side.

"It is my plan, but it's a long journey, yes?" Mariano shrugged. " And I don't know how long it will take. A few months...years maybe."

Nick couldn't believe what he was hearing. "When are you leaving?"

"I expect in a week or so. We want to tie up loose ends before we go."

"A week?" Nick blurted. "Mariano, we have plans. I want you to be a part of them."

"Ah, well, as much as I would like to live here and do this work, it's important for my family that I go. You understand."

Nick considered for a moment. "I don't want you to go, but I know why you need to. Mariano, what are we going to do without you?"

"I'll tell you one thing. And it's the most important advice I can give, that is if you can listen."

Nick didn't like the grave look on his friend's face. "Go on."

"That man you fought yesterday. Bill Tennant. He's more dangerous than you know. Don't cross his path again. Stay out of his way."

"What?" Nick said, not understanding him at all. "He's gone. Fired. End of story."

"It's not the end, Nick. Not by a long shot."

Nick looked into Mariano's concerned blue eyes and read that there was more the man wanted to say than he was letting on. "Wait here. I'll get my hat." He stepped back into the house and grabbed his hat and gloves. He glanced at his gun belt hanging on the peg by the door and decided against it-at least for now. Looking scared wasn't how he wanted to handle things, but still he was uneasy.

Audra appeared at the entryway. "Nick," she said to him. "You're leaving already?"

"Uh, yeah. Mariano's here. Something's come up that we need to take care of."

She rushed up to him. "I love you," she said, and she hugged him. "Stay out of trouble today, will you?" She released him and gave him a caring look that Nick swore belonged to a maturer young lady. With that, she went to rejoin the family at breakfast.

Nick felt a little warm inside. He wished he'd tasted one of those "award winning" biscuits. He turned and went out the door to join Mariano.


	3. Chapter 3

"What's going on, Mariano?" Nick called out. He jogged down the porch steps and met up with his friend in the yard. He settled his tall hat on his head and adjusted it to get the hair out of his eyes. "You think I didn't handle Tennant right?"

"Ease up, my friend. I'm with you." Mariano slapped Nick's shoulder and gestured toward the stable. "I'll explain while you get Belle."

"Aw for the love of—it's _Horse_. Just Horse!" Nick said. "Look. I want this hashed out now, before we go anywhere this morning. I fired Tennant yesterday. I don't see any reason for him or anybody else to have a particular grudge against me. Every man here knows this is a working ranch. They learn that from the moment they're hired. Tennant challenged that rule. He's history."

"He didn't challenge a rule, Nick. He challenged you," said Mariano. "Why do you think he did that?"

"He was hard-headed and disagreeable. Some men are like that," Nick told him. "Aw, Blast it, Mariano! You're just like my father, always trying to teach me something, making me question myself. Probably why he likes you so damn much, but I'd rather you just come out and say it. I'm not a kid brother that you need to straighten out. I'm your friend. Give it to me plain."

Mariano smiled. "I've always thought of you as a brother. Someone who was there for me when I needed help, or just friendship. You were there. Always."

"Don't get sensitive on me," Nick replied. It was hard enough to say goodbye. "Ya think I _want_ you to leave?"

Mariano laughed at that. "I will miss this place." He grew quiet as if searching for words. They stopped at the corral where Mariano had tied his horse. He ran a hand along the animal's smooth, muscular neck. "Yesterday, after you left, I talked to some of the men. They told me that Tennant had played you. He wanted you to fight him."

"Obviously," Nick said. "Anybody with half a brain could see that."

"But what he said about the boy-" He cut off, looked away as if he couldn't say the rest.

Nick knew what was coming. "That was a lie," he said, a little more harshly than he intended.

"Your father is a great man. I will fight any man who claims otherwise."

"Like you did yesterday."

"You know you would not have wanted me to jump into your fight." Mariano spat the words. "You would have fought both of us."

"I would have."

"What will you have me do? Tell you lies now just to appease your pride?" Mariano said. "You are more than that. What I have to say, I have to say because I won't be here to help you."

"I need your help? For what?"

"Tennant has been planning this for months."

"Planning to get fired?"

"Yes!" he shouted now. "Listen to me, Nick! I don't know why, but the moment he was hired on here, he has been testing you. He has been looking for weakness. He found it yesterday."

"With lies—"

"What if it's the truth?"

"It isn't!" Nick shouted back.

"What if you do have a brother in Strawberry?"

"If that kid existed at all, he would be no brother of mine. Not by a long shot! Are you trying to end our friendship right here and now?" Nick said. "Because that is exactly what you're doing."

"What I want is for you to think instead of give in to your gut reaction. You're blinding yourself. Why would Tennant push you? Why would he say those terrible things about your father? What could he possibly gain?"

"I don't know."

"He knows you'll react. He's hoping you will make the next move. I don't know what caused him to do this. Whether it's something you did when he first was hired, or if perhaps your father…"

"You've said enough about my father. You have no right to accuse him of _any_ wrong-doing."

"I'm not, accusing him of anything," Mariano paused, as if he knew he was on treacherous ground. "Listen to me. I can't claim to know anyone's motives, but I do consider myself a good judge of men. You were so fired up yesterday that perhaps you could not see the blood in his eye. For Bill Tennant, his anger is deep and it hasn't yet run its course. I want to be here, like you always have been there for me through the years. I expected we would always be friends, and always be working together. We have had good times, you know? But life has given me other plans and I must go. I cannot be here when Tennant comes at you again."

Nick put his hands on his hips. It was too much. "You're making me crazy, Mariano. You know that?"

"It's what I do best." Mariano reached into his saddle bag and withdrew Tennant's Bowie knife. He held it out to Nick handle first, in the open palm of his hand.

Nick took the knife this time, and felt the heaviness of it.

"Hidden motives. Things we cannot see, can still hurt us, no?" Mariano mounted his horse. "Work waits for no one. I'm going to ride on ahead."

"Yeah," Nick said quietly. "I'll catch up with you in a bit."

He weighed the knife in his hand as Mariano rode away.

Mariano was right. What he couldn't see could kill him. There was a real possibility he had a brother in Strawberry. He wondered what else might be waiting for him in that deserted old town.

-

_Strawberry…_

Every day since Momma died, Heath visited her lonely grave. He didn't know what he was looking for, maybe something to keep him tied to the place she loved so much. He needed something to anchor him down. He felt like a leaf in the wind.

He didn't talk to her anymore, at least not like he did in the beginning. She died six months ago. Fever took her. Heath always thought it was the dust in this ol' town that killed her. It wore her down and no amount of begging or pleading could make her see fit to leave. She was waiting…for something. Some man in a fancy hat or a fancy carriage…a knight like in those old books she loved…someone to rescue her. If anyone needed rescuing, it was up to that person to see that it gets done. His momma taught him that much even though she never learned that lesson herself.

He knelt and pulled a few weeds from the base of the rugged wooden marker, so that he could still read her name. "Leah Thomson…loving mother"…_Wife to no one_. Not stated. Implied. The shame hit him every time.

And now Rachel was dead, too. As a second mother to Heath, she was the last person to have a hold over him, the last person to whom he had any emotional ties. She had killed herself. It was the only possible way to explain why she had fallen into that mine shaft. This town and the judgmental people in it had done her in too. Heath wasn't going to let that happen to him. He wouldn't abandon his dreams, his hopes. He wouldn't allow Strawberry to be his final resting place.

A tear slid down his cheek. He swiped it with his sleeve. "It's over. I have to move on," he said and hoped his momma could hear. He put his hat back on and started to back away.

His words still sounded a little boyish, but he found a way around it. His uncle Matt would be glad to be rid of him by the end of the month. By the time Heath was through with him, Matt would sign those papers and let the army take him away from here.

Heath wasn't sure what his future held, but there was one thing he knew for sure. This was the last time he would visit Leah Thomson's grave. "Good-bye, Momma." he said, and he was certain she would understand.

-

Only lost folks or overnighters stayed in Strawberry. Most lit out of town at daybreak…moving on to more important places. So Heath was surprised this morning when he heard a man's laughter drifting on the dusty air.

He heard Martha's laughter, too. Martha was his mother's sister. She and her husband Matt owned the only hotel. A run down old thing, it looked like Strawberry had beaten the life out of it and pretty much every other building in town.

There was a fine-looking horse tied to the post just outside, and Heath studied it for a moment. Black and brown quarter horse, fine leather saddle, looked new. The last time he'd seen a horse in such good shape and tacked up so well was when the mines were still open and the gamblers swarmed in to gamble the money from the miners. He was interested in who the fellow who owned this beautiful animal was. Maybe he was Heath's ticket out of Strawberry. He would have to play it real quiet. Study him.

Martha never wanted the boy to come in through the front door. It was always through the back with the help. The help was him and his momma's maid, Hannah. Heath lived with her in the little green cabin on the outskirts of town. She worked from dawn till dusk at this hotel. He was glad she had the work. She got paid. The stuff Heath did, like cut the firewood, replace damaged shingles, and mend the drain pipes? He was supposed to do it and like it. They were family. You don't get paid to do family chores. Matt and Martha got custody when Momma died. They owned him, or so they thought, but let him live elsewhere.

When he walked around back, the stranger's voice got louder. He could tell by his words that his uncle was not in the house or Matt's voice would be added to the conversation. He would be complaining. Heath went up to the open kitchen window and peered in.

The window was a bit taller than he was, so he grasped the edges of the sill, risking splinters from old wood and paint chips and pulled himself up. It was a sight. Martha held a frying pan up in the air as if to ward the stranger off, but he advanced toward her.

"I said, stay away from me."

"Aw, just one little kiss. I deserve that much for letting you in on my plan."

"Well," Martha said as she leaned back over a boiling pot on the stove. It was a wonder her skirt didn't catch fire. "Just one. I'm married you know."

"Only on paper, sweetie." The dark haired stranger, who was at least half Martha's age, wrapped his arms around her and planted a long, kiss. Martha's arms went around him too, pan and all.

Heath let go of the sill and dropped to the ground. Boy howdy, that was not a sight he wanted to see so early in the morning. He put a hand to his stomach. Oatmeal, stay down.

He decided to whistle Dixie, just to let them know he was coming. He stepped onto the back porch with a loud creak, easy to do because the boards were so loose. "Martha, I'm here!" he announced.

The pan clattered to the stove and the cursing began. "That's _Aunt_ Martha to you. Don't you have any manners at all?" She came to the door, patting down her hair and curving loose blonde strands behind her ears. She wiped her hands on her apron. "Well?" she said. "What are you waiting for? The shingles are by the shed. You know where the nails are. I hope you know where you put the hammer because your Uncle Matt couldn't find it this morning. He's over at the hardware store right now getting another one."

"I'm sorry. I thought I put it on the shelf. Matter of fact, I'm sure I'll find it." Heath peered behind her. The man had resumed his place at the kitchen table and started eating scrambled eggs. He looked as if he'd been in a prize fight—two black eyes. She was kissing that? He shook his head.

"Get on out there, Heath. The roof is leaking over room four. We need it fixed today. That's our best room."

"I will." He lingered a bit. "I just would like to get a drink first. Gonna be a hot one."

She stepped inside. "Make it quick."

The boy hurried past her, more for the sake of appearances than any real fear. He watched the man eat his eggs and drink what looked to be whiskey. Boy _howdy._ Heath let out a whistle.

The stranger looked up and shot him a sidelong glance. "What?"

"Oh nothin', just thinking about that fine looking horse out there. He yours?"

The man smiled. Heath noticed one of his molars was missing. Whoever fought him was a wildcat.

"Yeah. 'Course he's mine," said the stranger. "You a simpleton or something?"

"He's a nuisance is what he is," Martha said. "Get your water and get outside. The day's wastin'."

Heath grabbed a cup and filled it from the pump at the sink. He turned, leaned against the counter, and drank, studying the stranger over the metal rim. The man carried a fine-looking pistol too. Shiny and smart-looking, but it was a prop, something to make him look like more than he was. The fellow wasn't a gambler. He wasn't that slick. He was a con man. Heath could tell by his eyes. It was always in the eyes.

Figuring he'd used up his time; Heath rinsed and dried the cup and put it back in the cupboard. "Thank you, Martha."

"Aunt Martha!" she growled.

"Suit yourself," he said as he left.

Martha roared like a bear and launched Heath off the porch with a kick to his britches. Heath stumbled, but managed not to completely lose his balance. He grinned back at her and tipped his hat. She whirled and went back into the kitchen.

"Witch," he muttered. He looked at the meager stack of shingles he was supposed to work with. Not very many. The hole would probably take at least five of them to fix it proper. He looked up at the roof, shading his eyes from the sun. He'd have to prop the ladder on the landing of the stairs that led up to the second floor from the outside. He'd done it before, but it wasn't the safest job in town. He shrugged. At least it wouldn't take long.

After he hauled all the supplies and tools he'd need to complete the shingle repair, he discovered that he kinda liked the job. He didn't mind that he sun blared and the roof felt a little like Martha's frying pan over a hot stove. He was safe up here. Matt had come home with the new hammer and had promised to tan Heath's hide as soon as he came down from the roof, so Heath extended his time up here. He would avoid Matt somehow.

-

Heath hammered the nails in slowly and neatly and came to the point where he was almost done. He began his plan on how to escape; when he heard the adults come out on the street side of the building. He eased over to the front of the roof and listened, making sure to hammer the shingles once in a while so they wouldn't suspect he was listening.

"So, you're certain he's on his way, Bill?" asked Matt.

"Don't worry. I know him. He won't be able to keep from coming. We just won't know exactly when."

"We can send Heath down to the river," Martha suggested. "He can tell us when Barkley crosses that old bridge."

"You sure we can trust your nephew? He has a look about him," said Bill. "Like he knows more than he lets on."

Martha threw her head back and laughed. "He's my sister's kid. He can't be that smart."

Heath fumed, and none of them noticed the loud bang his hammer made.

"Besides," Matt said. "We haven't told him a thing."

"Good. I'll be back tonight," he spoke in a low voice. Heath had to really lean over the edge to hear what Bill said to Martha. "Keep the porch light on for me, honey."

Heath rolled his eyes and moved back from the edge. He lay down on the warm shingles and closed his eyes, throwing his arm over them to keep the sun at bay. He tried to imagine what they were up to. He ran through the details in his head. A con man named Bill was staying here at the hotel. Matt and Martha were hatching some kind of plan, and it involved a fellow by the name of Barkley. Heath was supposed to help. That was the only good thing he could see in this. If he were involved, he would learn more. He would find out who this Barkley was and what these people wanted with him.

He rolled over and picked up loose nails. He was done with this job. With all this excitement suddenly in his lap, he didn't mind climbing down that ladder to face Matt and the hiding he was promised.


	4. Chapter 4

The following morning, Nick was out of sorts. Yesterday, after work let out for the day, Mariano told him he would be busy the entire weekend interviewing potential buyers for his mother's house. The home was on riverfront property, and over the past few months Nick had heard several men talk about wanting to develop it. Mariano would get good money for that place, and he would be gone. Losing his lifelong friend wasn't the best way to start a Saturday morning.

"Are you sure this is all the baggage you need, Audra?" He said as he began to pick up one of her four bags at the top of the stairs. "I mean you're going to be gone a week. You only have four days' worth of stuff here." The girl always over-packed. He wondered if she'd get his meaning.

She breezed by him carrying a small toiletries kit. "Oh, no," she said brightly. "Papa already took down the rest."

Nick shoved a bag under his arm. "Papa's going to need a bigger carriage."

Little Sister was already out the front door when he reached the bottom of the stairs. Mother entered the room fitting lacy gloves onto her small hands. "Nicholas, when you're finished with Audra's bags, I have one in my room by the door. Would you be a dear and get it for me?"

"Just one?" His voice betrayed his bad mood, and he saw a look of disappointment cross her face. He smiled for her. "I'd be happy to Mother."

"That's my good son." Her eyes narrowed on his hair, which currently obscured his vision. "While we're gone, I want you to go into town and get that haircut. We've talked about this before."

Nick flicked his head and the hair settled to the side. "It's not a problem for me."

"I expect to see your eyes when I'm talking to you."

He sighed. "All right. I'll do it."

She smiled, patted his shoulder, and went to a mirror to adjust a small blue hat on her head.

He opened the front door and glanced back at her. She was a petite woman, but strong. She kept fit by riding and working at Father's side for years. Her elegant brown hair had faded slightly and showed a few strands of silver, but still she was by far the best-looking woman in the valley. He wished he could tell her that. "It's a beautiful hat, Mother," he said. "It suits you."

She turned and smiled. "Thank you, Nick."

Life was changing, but he hoped she would continue to be a constant in his life for many, many years.

_

The carriage was packed. Audra's supplies didn't look so bad once they were tightly bound to the top. Only, the shocks did seem awfully tight. Nick bit his tongue at suggesting they get a team of six horses to pull that thing instead of the four.

Gene stomped out of the house in suit and tie. At least, he stomped as quietly as he could so as not to raise Father's ire. He was at Nick's side, imploring again, even though it was useless. "Nick! You can fix this. I don't want to go to San Francisco! I want to stay here with you. I can help you out. I promise I won't get in your way."

"Sorry little brother." Nick slapped his shoulder. "Mother's right. You're a bright kid. High marks in school. Higher than mine or Jarrod's ever were. You need to see where your academics can get you. Doctor, lawyer, architect... How are you going to know what you want to do unless you can get a chance to see what your life will be like? Jarrod is offering you a big opportunity. He can at least show you the way lawyers work and how they live."

The boy crossed his arms and jutted his chin. He shot Nick a defiant look. "I don't want to be a lawyer. I want to be a cattleman. How about that?"

"Well, you'd make a fine cattleman and everything, but uh," Nick leaned toward him and whispered in his ear. "I'm not the one you have to please."

Gene looked over at Father who waited impatiently by the carriage. He turned back to Nick and gave him a dour look. "You get to have all the fun!" he muttered and joined the family in the carriage.

Nick stepped off the porch for final instructions and good-byes. Father approached. Six-foot-three and broad shouldered, he had always been a strong man. Nick heard stories about his early days and how he could knock a man out with a single blow. Over the years, Silas's cooking filled him out, making him the even more imposing figure Nick had always known. He was a man who demanded respect. His family gave it to him.

Nick straightened his posture.

"We went over the details last night," Father said, "so you know what needs to be done. I left the plans on the desk. You won't have any time for yourself while we're gone. You know what I always say."

"I know. 'This is a working ranch'," Nick said. "I'll get it done."

"Good man. When we return from San Francisco, and everything's completed, I'll give you that time off you asked for."

"Thank you, sir," Nick said.

The men shook hands. Father's grip was always strong and solidly reassuring. Nick hoped that nothing he would find in Strawberry would diminish the strength of this bond with his father. He wondered if this handshake would be the last between two trusting souls, but realized, with a twinge of regret, that his own doubt had already set change in motion.

Father stepped away, not noticing any change in his son, and climbed into the carriage. Mother leaned toward the window. "Remember to invite the Montoya's for supper on Friday."

"I will," Nick said.

"Good-bye, Nick!" Audra called. She blew a kiss.

Nick pretended to catch it and held it over his heart, which brought a happy smile to Audra's face.

With a command from the driver, the carriage wheels began to turn in the gravel. Albeit, slowly at first. Nick wasn't certain they would make it, but the team gathered momentum and they started off down the road.

Most of Nick's time went toward how the ranch would run for the two days he expected to be in Strawberry. He called in two of his father's most trusted foremen and went over the plans Father had laid out the night before. The reason he gave for his planned absence was that he intended to help the Montoyas get ready for their move. The details were vague so as to deter any questioning, but he discovered the men didn't care much about his personal business. They were most interested in what Tom Barkley needed them to do. If Nick detected a small amount of distrust in their eyes, he figured it to be just his own guilty feelings at deceiving his father.

By evening, his plans were in place. The men knew what to do, his bags were packed, and he could leave for Strawberry bright and early tomorrow morning. He would be back by Monday, ready to work. At least that was the plan.

By supper time, he found himself in a lonely kitchen eating a meal Silas had prepared for him earlier in the day. After performing a few chores, he too left the house. Gone to visit relatives for a few days. Nick had thought that being alone in this house for once would be an ideal situation, give him room to breathe, but it didn't turn out that way. This big house was dark and lonely without its people. He could hear the wind blow and the rafters creak now and again. The music of everyday life was absent. No voices. No laughter. The place lacked the warmth of family. How strange life would be without them.

After washing the dishes, he went back to the study. He picked up a few papers and straightened the desk. This room was smaller than the kitchen and he felt more comfortable here. Embers glowed in the fireplace and the room was warm and good. No wonder Father spent so much time in here.

The solid oak desk was as imposing as the man who sat behind it. Nick tried it out. His body didn't fill the chair like Father's did. No, Nick was of slighter build, which had always seemed in his eyes to be a defect. He had to build up his authority not on his imposing appearance, but rather on sheer meanness which didn't always work out for him. The fight with Tennant was only one in a long series of recent struggles.

He flipped open the humidor on the desk. The aroma of fine tobacco filled the room. He picked one of the best Virginians and leaned back in the chair. For a moment, he felt what it would be like to sit in Tom Barkley's place. King of his domain. His eyes flickered to the liquor cabinet. The liquid amber hues called to him. Father didn't mind if once in a while Nick took a cigar or two, but when it came to his sons drinking whiskey, the man was downright Puritan in his beliefs. Only Tom Barkley could partake of alcohol in this household-no one else. That would change tonight.

Father kept his finest whiskeys on the top shelf. Nick reached up and pulled down the imported scotch. The faceted bottle glimmered in the ember light. One glass. Father wouldn't miss it. Besides, what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

Mariano's words from yesterday briefly flashed in his mind. "What we cannot see can still hurt us." He took a glass and set it out on the bar's marble counter. He removed the stopper and poured a generous amount. He held the glass for a moment. Shadows and light played in the amber liquid, distorting the light, diminishing reality in a blend of gold. "Here's to the problems I cannot yet see." _To a brother, I may not yet know._ Nick lifted the glass to his lips and drank.

Heath always began Sunday with breakfast, a wash behind the ears, and church. He never missed a sermon. Since Rachel died, Hannah had taken up the slack in his adult supervision. She took raising him very seriously. Sunday mornings were their time together, and Sunday morning was the only time Heath still felt a sense of family.

Hannah tied the noose...er tie around his neck a bit too tightly this morning. As soon as she turned around, he began to loosen it. "Does the Lord really expect me to wear a tie, Hannah?"

"'Course he does!" she said. "Now you just tighten it up again, Heath. He even knows how you feel about wearin' that tie. So you might as well like it!"

Heath straightened it as best he could. He found his shoes and slipped his feet into them. They were right worn. The soles were so thin that he could feel the texture of the ground beneath them when he walked. He would very nearly be as well off going barefoot. He knew Hanna was setting aside money to get him a new pair, but that wouldn't be any time soon.

He didn't mind church. In fact, he wanted to visit the Lord's house, because it brought him comfort. What he didn't like, and didn't look forward to were the others his age, especially the Brighton brothers. Since he and Hannah had been attending church together, the brothers had ganged up on Heath in front of Hannah. They shouted vulgar, mean-spirited slanders that didn't seem to bother Hannah. At least she outwardly paid it no mind, but it bothered Heath to the point there would be trouble. He would start it, that much he knew. But he worried that he wouldn't be able to control the timing. If they made him angry enough, the brawl might happen at church, in front of the whole congregation. The Lord would be awfully disapproving about that.

"You ready?" Hannah asked. She wore her best flower print dress and was in her church-going mood. Bible in hand. All serious.

"I'm ready."

They walked in silence for a while. Heath mentally planned different scenarios in his head about when and how the boys would begin their taunting.

Hannah spoke up. "You thinking about them Brighton boys?"

He looked at her. "How'd you know?"

"I always think of them when I'm going to church. Always," she said. "They need the Lord more than most folk around here, but they pay Him no mind. That's why I say a prayer for them every Sunday."

"You do?"

"Mm-hmm." Hanna said with conviction. "Somebody got to." Don't pay them no mind Heath. You're better than they are and they know it. That's why they do what they do."

When they arrived at the little church, Heath scanned the area. He saw no sign of the Brighton brothers, not even their folks had shown up. One of the Ladies Aid approached Hannah with a grave look on her face. "Oh Hannah, have you heard?" she said dramatically. "Stella and Joseph Brighton have both come down with scarlet fever. They are terribly ill."

"Oh, no!" Hannah exclaimed, truly concerned. "Does somebody need to watch the boys?"

Heath pricked his ears. He couldn't imagine a worse thing happening than having Trenton and Michael Brighton living and sharing meals at his house.

"The boys are going to be staying with my sister. But what we are asking the ladies of the congregation to do for them is to cook one dinner for the family once they are over the crisis. Here's the schedule we have made..."

Heath lost interest. His heart still raced though. Close call. Hannah could cook as many meals as she wanted, as long as it didn't require him to visit cordially with the boys. He watched folks enter the little white church. He was happy to see that the white-washing he helped with last Sunday had freshened it up. The dappled shadows and the pretty stained glass window above the door made it look welcoming. Heath straightened his tie.

"Hi Heath."

Heath saw Liberty Keane, the prettiest girl in town. She stood under the apple tree watching him demurely. He walked over. Her family had owned stakes in the mines near Strawberry and even though they'd closed the mines a few years ago, the family still quite well-off. In her fine dresses and shoes, she was almost too fancy for him, but he was drawn to her like a bee to honey. He hadn't kissed her yet, but he'd come close last Sunday.

"Hi Liberty," he said. "You sure look pretty."

"Not me," she said. "Plenty of other girls around here are prettier than me."

Heath cast about for other girls. Sure there were a few girls around, but none of them had hair that shined in the sunlight like melted gold. "I don't see any others."

"Are you staying for the social?" she said quickly.

"Oh, uh...no. I've got to do some chores for my Uncle."

"Oh. I was hopin'...you know...to get to talk some more."

"Me too."

"How about you come by for supper tomorrow? Afterwards, we can take a walk by the stream. It's quiet there. Be nice if you could-"

"I'll be there." He'd cut her off, sounding too eager. He looked down and kicked the dirt. _Of all the stupid-_

Liberty deftly moved to a different subject. "Terrible about the Brighton's isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"The boys have been running wild, I hear." One thing Liberty loved was gossip. "Not supervised for days."

"So?"

"Heath, they've been causing trouble. They let the Stanton's cows loose, and now I heard they were going to do something to that old bridge by the river. I pity the next person who tries to cross."

Heath frowned. "That bridge is as sturdy as a mule. What could they possibly do to it?"

"I don't know, but I heard that they had big plans. I bet that's where they are right now. At that river bridge."

"Liberty, come along child." Liberty's mother held out a hand. She smiled pleasantly at Heath. "Hello Heath."

"Hello Mrs. Keane."

"See you tomorrow," said Liberty.

"See ya."

As he watched Liberty's pretty skirts swish across the lawn. He should have been thinking about her invitation and the promise of a kiss, but his mind was on that bridge.

It was of solid wood construction. Built just two years ago, it was still fairly new. He'd crossed it himself only last week and saw no problems with it. Now what could two boys do to a bridge as sturdy as that one? Heath shrugged. He would find out. He was supposed to go down there after church and watch for that Barkley fellow to cross the river. Now that fellow would either cross, or end up in the drink. If the river didn't get him, that con man staying at Matt and Martha's would. Heath couldn't imagine a fellow with that much bad luck and felt a little pity for him.

Oh well. What more can any man expect when he travels to Strawberry?


	5. Chapter 5

Every man in Strawberry was worn out and tired. No new jobs, nothing much to look forward to. Boys like Heath were no different. That was why this Sunday morning the Brighton boys were off doing mischief and Heath was at church. Sunday was the one time a week that Heath tried to renew his spirit, to keep from falling under the weight of it all. It was hard for a restless boy like him to get inspiration even at church these days, but in memory of his poor Momma, who had wanted him to have a Christian upbringing; he gave it his best effort.

Momma was buried close by and he always felt her presence within these white walls, especially today. She was urging him to stay close, at least, that's the way it felt. Like there was something he was supposed to do in Strawberry, and he couldn't leave until it was done.

He didn't hear the sermon this morning. His mind worked on that shady business of Matt and Martha's, the con man named Bill, and the poor sap named Barkley who would soon be crossing their path. He had become so distracted in his thoughts that more than once he got the eye from Hannah to pay attention or else.

When church was over, he filed out solemnly with the rest of the worshipers, but as soon as he got to the doors, he bolted.

"Heath!" called Hannah. She stood near the bottom of the church steps in the dappled sunshine. "Where you going?" The two of them always went to Momma's grave after Sunday service. She apparently saw no reason to do any different this day.

Heath turned but kept walking backward. "I have to go. Matt has work for me today."

"On the Sabbath!" she exclaimed. "He should know better'n that!"

"Yeah," agreed Heath. "I'm late as it is. I'll be back at suppertime!"

"What about lunch?" Hannah said. "Won't you be hungry?"

"Martha said she'd pack me something."

"Oh Lord. Well, don't eat too much of it, unless you're starvin'."

"I sure won't!" Heath turned and started at a dead run toward town which wasn't all that far. He'd pick a couple of apples from the orchard along the way so he wouldn't get too hungry for Martha's food. The fruit would be tangy because they weren't quite ripe yet, but it would be better than eating whatever Martha packed for him. Both he and Hannah figured Matt must have a cast-iron stomach to be able to stand Martha's cooking. Heath came to the conclusion that once a man was bound to a woman, he was also for better or worse, bound to her cooking. Matt was a sap.

Heath wouldn't be eating that woman's food. He decided to pick three apples.

By the time Heath reached the hotel, it was pretty near one o'clock. The sun was bright and he could hear Matt in the yard yelling to Martha who was in turn yelling back from the kitchen. His uncle was not in a good mood. Heath noticed as he walked toward the back to see him that Bill the con man's fancy black mount was nowhere to be seen.

"Boy!" Matt snapped when he saw Heath come around the corner of the hotel. "Get over here and help. You're better with this old nag." He was fighting his horse again, pulling on the reins to get the stubborn animal to move. The horse, named Nugget, liked the man about as much as Heath did.

"You just have to show him a little respect." Heath approached but knew better than to get within arm's reach of Matt when he was mad. "I'll get him ready."

"Just as well." Matt dropped the reins and Nugget vigorously shook his head. Matt turned to Heath and shook a finger at him. "You were supposed to be here an hour ago. Get that horse saddled. For all we know, Barkley could be across that bridge already."

Matt started toward the kitchen door.

Heath turned. "Who is Barkley anyway? Why's he so important?"

Matt stopped and worked his jaw as if reluctant to tell the boy anything. When he finally spoke, he shot Heath a dismissive glance and growled as if the very devil was in him. "He's our ticket out of Strawberry."

Ticket out of Strawberry...

Heath didn't trust any off the three adults involved in this strange conspiracy. Matt and Martha had never proven their worth to him. They were just ornery people who stood in his way, but that Bill they hooked up with? He was downright slithery. Heath doubted that Barkley was of the same ilk. He sensed that just now in Matt's tone. The man was reluctant. Having second thoughts. It dawned on Heath that Matt maybe even harbored a little bit of guilt, as if this Barkley was just a pawn and not a threat to anyone.

The horse nudged Heath's shoulder as if to remind him he was there. The boy reached into his pocket and absently offered Nugget one of the apples he had picked from the orchard. He turned to the grateful horse and patted him on the side of the neck. He pulled a prickly burr from Nugget's blond mane. "Barkley means money," Heath said softly. "That's got to be it. Money to buy Matt and Martha a way out of this town. They're getting themselves out of Strawberry." He didn't like the thought that came to him next, and he wondered if sinfulness was hereditary. "Maybe..." he said, and he bit his lip. "Maybe I can make this work for me too."

He didn't know exactly what he meant by that. Would he really swindle a stranger for personal gain? A lump formed in his throat. What would Momma think? Was he just like Matt and Martha? He was helping them with this dirty task as if it was just another chore like shingling a roof. He wanted to profit by it. That Barkley fellow had never done anything to him. Why was he getting involved? He should have gone with Hannah. He should be going to the church social and stealing kisses from that pretty Liberty Keane. He was in this now and fairly deep. He had involved himself in their scheme; he'd find a way to come out of it a better man. He took a breath of dusty summer air. "It's this town, Nugget," he said as he slowly led the horse to the livery. "It's got to be this town. It kills people or makes them crazy. Well, it aint gonna take me so easily. Come on."

When he came back from the livery with Nugget saddled up, Martha appeared at the front of the hotel carrying a lunch bag. She marched to the front of the porch and shoved it at Heath as he walked up.

"It ought to tide you over until supper. Leftovers. Cornbread and liver."

Heath looked at the bag and wondered where he would be dumping this food. "Thanks?" he said.

"Good enough for you. You remember what to do?",

"I'm to wait at the bridge until I see this Barkley fellow approach it. Once he starts to cross, I ride like the wind back here to tell you he's on his way."

"That's right." Martha placed her hands on her hips. "What are you waiting for?"

"I uh...what does this fellow look like again?"

Martha groaned. "I've never seen him!"

"And I have?" said Heath.

"Well, he's been in a fight." She twirled a strand of hair on her finger as she described what he might look like. "Bill says he probably has a black eye or two, just like him. He's supposed to be dark-haired. He's rich too. So he'll probably be riding a fine looking horse with a fancy saddle probably made in San Francisco. Might be dressed like he's rich too...big black hat. He'll look important."

Heath watched Martha closely. Her sparkling eyes were distant as if she could see this man...as if she wanted this man. It gave Heath the cold shivers.

Her imagination was big, and she was so desperate to shake off the dust of this town her plans for Barkley would be even bigger. She confirmed his suspicions. They were after The man's money. How would they get it? Gambling it from him? Was Bill a gambler? Heath didn't think so. He didn't have the look of a gambler. Matt couldn't gamble a flea from a dog. Would they try to swindle him? Sell him something? There was nothing to sell. They couldn't convince an idiot to purchase a mine share around here. The mines were used up. None of this made sense.

"Is that enough of a description for you?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Well?" she demanded. "Get out of here, then."

Heath mounted Nugget and rode off with one arm out to the side, his hand still clutching the lunch bag Martha had given him. The rancid liver smell leached from it and even Nugget was offended. He would dump the thing soon as he was out of sight of the hotel.

Heath drew in a breath of fresh country air and loosened his Sunday tie as he rode toward the river. He had been so worked up about his involvement in this scheme that he had forgotten it had been choking him this whole time. He slipped it from his neck and stuffed it into his pocket and unbuttoned the top of his collar. It was good to feel free of that thing.

So, he was to look for a dark-haired fellow with a black eye riding a fancy horse. Easy enough.

Nugget was a slow horse, but reliable. He was thin because Matt was so cheap when it came to feed. Nugget's brown hair was a little unkempt, but he could be a fine enough horse with the proper care. Heath's regret was that even if he offered to take the horse off Matt's hands, the animal would be no better off. Hannah couldn't afford to feed and stable a horse either. He petted Nugget often and spoke in low easy tones as he rode along.

Soon, he heard peals of laughter up ahead and rushing water. The river and...the Brightons. Heath nudged Nugget to move along a little faster.

Just as Heath spotted the wooden suspension bridge, he saw two boys running away from it. Liberty's gossip before church was right on the mark. Trenton and Michael Brighton were up to no good. They had obviously done something to that bridge. They were running from it and laughing hysterically. On the other side of the river, a lone rider approached.

"Time to get down there, and see what this is all about," Heath said and urged tired old Nugget to a gallop.

When they saw Heath coming, the Brightons hid behind the trees. He watched them for a moment and then figured they were no threat to him. They were just settling in to watch something happen. The fools.

Heath squinted as he approached the bridge, eying the structure for damage. As he got closer, he saw evidence of the boys' tampering. He turned in the saddle to look back at the little varmints. Michael stood in full view now beside the tree he had been hiding behind, not trying to conceal his glee. Trenton peered around the other side, his pale face looking a little scared. Heath slowly turned back. Two boys were on his revenge list, just for being idiots. Even Strawberry didn't deserve those two.

He looked again at the bridge. The cables that anchored the ropes, that held this entire structure together, had been nearly sawed in half. The saw the Brighton's used was lying in evidence on the ground, hastily abandoned by the two cowardly vandals. They'd done a fair job on the ropes. Any amount of pressure on the bridge would snap them and the entire thing would collapse.

Because the river was fed by mountain springs, the rushing water would be cold, even at this time of year. The current could carry an unsuspecting man down river a mile before he'd get his wits about him. Heath shook his head. Barkley was in for trouble unless Heath could warn him.

The rider approached the foot of the bridge and stopped. Heath gave him the once over. First thing he noticed was the big black hat and Heath let out a laugh. Martha was right about that. He was important-looking as she had predicted, but he wasn't more than twenty years old, if that, judging by his lanky build. The horse he rode was the most beautiful animal Heath had ever seen. It was a chestnut, stocky and strong with a bell-shaped patch of white on its rump. Heath patted Nugget on the side as a way of apology for admiring the other man's horse.

Barkley paused and pushed the front of his hat up, revealing a shiner under his right eye. Heath, grinned despite the mounting trouble. So this was the wildcat who had fought Bill and knocked out his tooth. Wiry fellow, Heath judged, but mean. He admired that.

Barkley tilted his head to one side as he studied the bridge's structure before proceeding. The scowl that had seemed a permanent fixture on the young man's face, slipped away when he saw Heath. He seemed to have a question on his mind, because he'd opened his mouth a bit and then maybe thought better of it. A determined look crossed his face, and he urged his horse onto the bridge.

"Don't do it, Mister!" Heath shouted over the roar of the river. "Ropes cut!"

Barkley narrowed his eyes on Heath. The scowl returned. "Boy," he said, loud and bold. "I'm crossing this bridge if it kills me!"


	6. Chapter 6

Nick got an early start toward Strawberry this morning, but he wasn't making the best time. He still had things to think through. He was tired. He didn't get much sleep last night; his mind kept him up late working on the contingencies of his venture...on all the "what ifs."

He was really sticking his neck out and putting more than his reputation on the line by sneaking out to Strawberry like this. By his actions, he was conceding that Bill Tennant's accusations about Father may have been true. The men on the ranch would figure that out. They would know, even if Father never did, that the son to whom Tom Barkley entrusted the family business, had doubted him. The bonds of trust were a fragile chain. Nick was the weak link.

If he came up empty on this trip, which he hoped to do, he might be able to salvage some respect for himself and for Tom Barkley, but it would take a long, long time before all would be well again.

If he found the boy. If it turned out to be true...

What then? How much would he pay to keep the terrible secret quiet? He had come prepared for cutting a deal with the kid's mother. Everyone had a price, especially a tawdry woman raising a bastard son. Part of the pay-off money was in his pockets now, but it didn't set right, that he would stoop to hushing somebody for his Father's indiscretion. What dogged Nick so much was the question of who he was trying so hard to save-his father, his family, or himself? He didn't know and in a way, it made him feel dirty as if he were taking part in his father's original sin.

Oh, there were other problems too, like shutting up Bill Tennant...Nick knew of a permanent solution for that. As much as he'd like to believe the thought hadn't crossed his mind, the idea of killing him riled Nick's blood. Made him want to confront the fool again. Bill had tried to kill him during that first fight. The knife Mariano pulled from him was in Nick's saddle bag, ready to be turned against its owner. Eye for an eye and all that.

But Tennant hadn't killed anyone as far as Nick knew. Killing him outright wasn't exactly the Christian option, and so wasn't exactly Nick Barkley's option either.

He hung his head. Whatever the outcome, he had given the process momentum. It was going to happen, whatever it was. He might be better off not even returning home after all was said and done.

This was his mood-dark and melancholy-as he came upon a wooden suspension bridge that spanned the river.

Strawberry was across the water. Right over there. Beyond those trees, a defeated old mining town held the power to drastically alter his life and the lives of every single person he had ever cared for. He could and maybe should turn back now.

He pushed up the brim of his hat, and studied the bridge. For a fleeting moment, he thought of Gene, and how he might like to see a unique bridge like this. The boy still had innocent eyes for the world and the way things worked. Possible news of Father's infidelity would devastate Nick's impressionable young brother. He had no right to destroy Gene's life when it hadn't even begun. What was he thinking?

He straightened and took in a breath. Can't be helped. He started to guide Horse toward the crossing when he saw a tow-headed youth on a tired-looking horse. Just sitting there at the other end of the bridge watching him with a huge grin on his face. Nick opened his mouth, his first thought on seeing such a friendly face was to offer a greeting of some sort, but he remembered he was in a sorry mood and decided to stay that way.

"Come on, Horse," he said and urged the animal onto the foot of the bridge.

"Don't do it, Mister!" the boy shouted over the river's roar.

Nick couldn't make out the rest of what the boy said, but he was already annoyed to the point he wouldn't have listened anyway. He scowled. That kid had no right to tell him his business! "Boy," he said, loud and bold. "I'm crossing this bridge if it kills me!"

Nick and Horse proceeded onto the bridge, but were short of the expansion when for whatever reason, the boy on the tired horse shouted at him again, this time more forcefully. "I said get that Crock head off this bridge!"

Stunned, Nick watched as the boy cursed and charged the bridge at a gallop. This sudden action startled Horse. He reared and Nick wasn't ready. Ropes snapped, whizzed by his ear. He grasped onto the saddle for dear life, but Horse went down hard on the deck and reared again and twisted trying to escape the collapsing bridge. The jerking motion wrenched Nick from the saddle, and he found himself horseless with nothing to grab but air. Around him snapping ropes whipped like black snakes against the blue sky and rushing up from below was churning, gushing water where there used to be a bridge.

The icy water smacked him hard, and swallowed him. He tumbled in the turbulent current, but his body hit something that stopped his momentum down river. He reached out, found the bridge's wooden planks stacked like a makeshift ladder, and pulled himself up.

Breaking the surface, he gasped for breath. He never figured on this contingency. Of all the dumb luck! He tossed his head to get his wet hair out of his eyes and looked over his shoulder to the other side of the river.

"Son of-a-" he sputtered. Two figures, boys, ran away from the scene. Nick blinked water out of his eyes and casting a glance down river he made out the head of a horse bobbing in the rapids. It wasn't his Horse. It was light-maned. It belonged to that kid. The one who broke the bridge.

Where was that kid anyway?

He climbed up the planks to get a better view of the river. The horse had found some footing further down, about a hundred yards and seemed to be making its way to the bank on its own.

Nick's eyes swept the rapids. Saw nothing but rocks. He scanned the bank and saw no one. The kid had probably run like those others. He knew what was good for him. Nick started to climb again and was almost out of the water when he thought better of the situation and turned to look again. The kid had to be in the river. He was on the bridge when it collapsed. Where was he?

Then about 15 feet away, a blond head broke the surface of the water. His arms thrashed to keep it up. He wasn't swimming, he was caught on something and trying to break free. He wasn't up for long when he disappeared under the water again.

Nick didn't have time to think. He just dived in and swam for the boy.

When he found him under the water, he grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him to the surface.

"Boy, what did you think you we're doing?" Nick demanded.

The boy sputtered and coughed, but managed an answer. "Saving my worthless soul!"

Nick ignored the strange reply and tried to swim the boy free, but whatever it was held him fast. He needed to dive under and investigate, but the boy's face was barely above the surface. "I have to let go of you. Can you keep above the water?"

"Yeah!" he said and began to flail his arms. "I can!"

As soon as Nick released him, however, the boy went under. Nick took in a breath and dived. He grabbed the boy's leg and saw that the ropes from the bridge had cinched around his ankle. Nick tried to loosen the hold, but the more he worked at the rope, the tighter it became. He grabbed the boy around the waist and swam up again.

The boy coughed and choked on the water.

"Rope's got you good," Nick said. He thought about the huge knife in his saddle bag useless to him since Horse was nowhere in sight. "I need a knife!"

"I got one," the boy sputtered. "In my back pocket."

"Why didn't you say so?"

"Ya didn't ask!"

Nick reached into the boy's back pocket and found the knife. He unfolded the blade. "All right. Get a breath. You'll be out of this in a minute." He didn't wait for a response. He swam down to the thick rope and began to saw at it. He worked at it until he felt his lungs would burst, but then he cut through. The boy instantly disappeared, carried off by the rush of water. Nick let go of the rope and he himself went down river a bit as he swam to the surface.

He found the boy quickly and latched onto his arm. He dragged the boy to the riverbank.

By the time they were free of the water, the boy was on hands and knees coughing up a lungful of the stuff.

Nick swiped his face on his wet sleeve and sat by the kid for a minute. He didn't know what to do exactly, but wait and maybe slap the kid's back if he needed it. When the boy's coughing subsided, he collapsed on the grass exhausted. Out of breath, they both lay on their backs on the riverbank. "You all right, kid?" Nick asked.

"Yeah," came the weak reply. "I'm all right."

"Good. You have a lot of explaining to do," Nick told him. "A lot of explaining."

The sun warmed his wet clothes. The scent of the cool grass reminded him of lazy Sunday afternoons. Nick closed his eyes a moment, just to rest. What a day! The trip was already eventful and he wasn't even to Strawberry yet.

A shadow came over him and he felt something rap his nose.

He opened his eyes and saw the black brim of his dry hat dangling before him.

"Huh?" He propped himself up on an elbow and grabbed the hat, jerking it from Horse's teeth.

Horse snorted and stared down at him with a cool look. A keen intelligence lingered behind those huge brown eyes, even though he was the most stubborn critter Nick had ever encountered.

"Well, I'll be-" Nick began, wondering how Horse had managed to cross the river in such a dry state.

Beside him, the boy sat up, took in the situation, and burst out laughing.

Nick stared at his wet companion who had very nearly drowned. When he saw the pure glee in the boy's face, Nick started laughing too. It was funny. Horse had kept himself and the hat dry when everyone and everything else was soaked through.

When the boy's laughter finally calmed, he said, "Quite a horse ya got there."

"Yeah," Nick agreed, as if he'd known Horse was capable of such a trick all along. "Modoc. They breed 'em right up there." He brushed the hat off, though it wasn't dirty. "Yessir. They sure do." He paused and scrutinized the boy. "What were you doing on that bridge? Did you know it would collapse?"

The boy became quiet and thoughtful. He pulled a blade of grass. "Yeah. I knew. I was trying to warn you, but you didn't listen."

Nick huffed. "I saw some boys running away..."

"I suppose if I told you they had everything to do with this and that they sabotaged it just to watch it fall; you'd still believe I had something to do with it."

"Yep."

"Then I'll say this once. It'll be up to you whether you believe me or not." The boy looked directly at him in a way that demanded his attention. "I had nothing to do with it. I would never put a stranger in harm's way, and I sure wouldn't destroy something that don't belong to me."

He had a sharp, blue-eyed stare. Unusually steady for a boy his age. If he were lying, he wouldn't be able to look Nick in the eye. He believed him.

"Then I suppose I ought to thank you for at least trying to keep me off that bridge," said Nick. "But you nearly got yourself killed. You all right? Anything broken?"

"Nah, I'm all right," the boy replied, "It's me who should be doing the thanking. You really got me out of a jam out there."

"Let's call it even." Nick looked around for the boy's horse. "Your mount's gone. I saw him come out of the river farther down. I'll go look for him-"

"Don't bother. He knows where I am. He'll be along soon enough."

Nick raised his brows. He'd never known anyone to be so cavalier about the whereabouts of his own horse. "Ya sure?"

"He's run off before. Always comes back."

Nick shrugged. "If you say so."

The boy slipped his one shoe off his foot, the other didn't survive the tumble into the water. "River took my shoe," the boy said. "It's got to be washed clear down river. Never getting it back now."

There was such a look of disappointment in the kid's eyes that Nick asked, "Don't you have another pair?"

"Yeah. I got lots of 'em." The boy cast his eyes down and started rolling up the cuffs of his pants. "I'll just have to go home barefoot is all."

"Oh." Nick realized he had put the kid in a bad position. Humiliated him without intending to. He saw the state of the remaining shoe, lying limp and wet in the grass, with a gaping hole in the sole and realized that this must have been his only pair. He wondered for a moment whether the kid had a home to go back to. "Well, it's probably a long way back for you. I mean you having to walk and all. Say, I've got a pair of old boots in my saddle bag. They aren't worth much, but they'll get you home without you having to blister your feet."

"Nah, I'll manage."

Nick got up and sauntered over to Horse. "I won't take no for an answer. You can keep 'em if you like. They take up too much room in the bags anyway." As he dug out the boots, his mind went back to his purpose. Here was a boy about the right age. This could be the one he was looking for, too bad he liked him. That would complicate things. Nick turned and held the boots in front of him. He took some comfort in the fact that this boy did not look like him as Bill Tennant had suggested. Still his mouth was dry when he asked, "What's your name, kid?"

"Heath. Heath...Simms."

Nick let out the breath he held. Not his brother then, but a youth he wouldn't mind getting to know. Someday, maybe when this was all over... "I'm Nick Barkley." He jutted out his hand and shook Heath's heartily. "Pleasure to know you."

"Likewise."

He handed the dry boots to Heath who took them, but asked, "Don't you need them? Yours are soaked."

It was the truth. Nick badly wanted the dry ones, but he knew the difference between a want and a need. Heath desperately needed these boots.

"Take 'em. Mine'll dry out soon enough."

Heath ran his fingers along the finely tooled leather, admiring the craftsmanship. "Thanks."

"I'd better be on my way," Nick said. "I have to get to Strawberry before sundown."

Heath followed him to Horse's side. "Why did you come to Strawberry, Nick?" he asked. "Nobody ever comes here if they're in their right mind. Folks usually want to leave."

Nick mounted Horse. His heart suddenly heavy. "I'm...I'm looking for somebody."

"Who are you lookin' for?"

"A boy named Thomson. You know him?"

"No. Never heard of him."

In a small town like Strawberry, that was a very good sign. Nick nodded. "See you around, Heath."

Heath clutched his fine new boots tightly and watched Nick Barkley ride toward a town that would surely do him in. Strawberry held no friends for him, only enemies. Who was he, and why on earth would he be looking for a motherless and fatherless boy who amounted to nothing in this world?

The questions were growing in number, and Heath began to suspect that his role in this scheme was far bigger than he could have possibly imagined.


	7. Chapter 7

Strawberry used to be a small, but booming town full of miners, fortune hunters, and speculators. Nick's boyhood memory was of a bustling raucous town with every spectacle of vice a boy could imagine. In the early days when the family ventured to the town, Mother kept the boys close as they walked through its brazen streets. Now, as he headed in over a decade later, he saw the devastation of a once thriving town that lost its heart.

The late afternoon sun gouged thick canals of light through the alleys between dilapidated buildings. A few folks lingered on porches, but they silently watched Nick ride by. He had tipped his hat to one old man who was giving him a hard stare, but the even harder suspicious look he received in return to his gesture cooled Nick's attempt at friendliness. This was definitely not the town he remembered, and he began to doubt the ease of his task. Would anyone in Strawberry talk to a stranger about the Thomsons? Should he mention his own name in the hopes someone knew Tom Barkley from way back? Probably wouldn't be wise, considering the circumstances. No. He'd have to just gather his information without revealing much about himself.

He wasn't quite up for information gathering at this point anyway. His clothes were still damp and limp from the dunking in the river. He'd have to at least look presentable if he wanted to open a conversation with these reticent strangers. Horse needed tending as well; getting a little food and freshening up would be a wise move for the both of them.

After riding from one end of town to the other, Nick found only one open hotel-the other was abandoned with the windows shot out-and exactly one livery stable. One night wouldn't harm him or Horse, even though he was certain he could trust neither place completely.

The Strawberry Hotel was about as run down as the town itself, but at least someone cared about it and was making an effort to keep things up. Rich brown shingles that lay atop gray weathered ones proved they'd patched the roof recently. As he approached, he saw the sign outside and it settled him on the place. Matthew Simms: Proprietor.

Simms. Seemed like a lucky break. At least Nick already knew Heath Simms, and he was a decent enough lad. He smiled at the thought of that gutsy kid and his wild attempt to keep Nick off that bridge. He found that he was eager to meet that boy's family. They must be a respectable, hard-working bunch to keep a functioning hotel on the edge of nowhere. They would likely be willing to help him out or at least point him in the right direction.

As Nick stepped up to the porch, a thin older man came out of the hotel. He must have seen Nick approach and come out to greet him, though his manner was oddly distant.

"Hello son," said the man. "Need a room?"

"Yes sir. Just for a night." Nick offered his hand. "You must be Mr. Simms?"

"That's right," he said gesturing to the sign before shaking Nick's hand. "I'm the proprietor-I and my wife that is."

"You own the livery next door?"

"That too."

"Perfect. That old bridge down by the river nearly drown me and my horse and-" He saw the discerning look in Simms's eye and knew he wasn't fooling anybody. Nick corrected. "Well, it nearly drowned me at least. I believe it was your son who tried to keep me off the bridge. His name is Heath?"

Simms face twisted in thought. "Heath? Oh...oh yeah, yeah. I was wonderin' where that boy of mine went off to."

Nick ignored the oddly flat tone in the man's voice and continued. "Sharp kid. Not too many like him."

"Naw. Not too many," Simms agreed. "Well why don't we get you settled in then? I'll go ahead and take care of your mount. My wife is inside. She'll get you a room."

"That'll be fine, Mr. Simms. Let me just grab my bags." Nick sprang down the steps and removed the saddlebags, slinging them over his shoulder. He turned and stepped up as Simms headed down.

"Fine horse you've got here, Mr. Barkley," Simms said. "I'll take good care of him."

"Thanks," said Nick, and he opened his mouth to say more, but paused. Had he told Simms his name ? He didn't recall...but he must have. Being polite at introductions was such an ingrained habit. Nick shrugged it off. So much for not using my real name, he thought. Simms led Horse toward the livery.

Inside the hotel was not a soul to be seen. No one lingered in the lobby. There was a smell of dust in the air and Nick imagined it would be a hard task to keep a hotel pristine with so few paying customers. How did they keep the place going? Cutting back, he supposed, by not buying their son any shoes.

What was he griping about? He only just met the father, but something was off. Simms had been helpful if not overly friendly. Maybe it was to do with Nick's own mood more than anything. He'd just gotten off a long ride, there was the dunking in the river that left him damp and sticky, and of course he had chosen the most dishonest, disagreeable task he could possibly imagine...seeking proof of his father's infidelity. He was the lowest of the low and he knew it. He deserved whatever he got. He rubbed his face and tried to shrug off the dark mood. "Anybody here?" He said in his usual tone.

A woman from the room behind the registration desk let out a groan of disapproval, and came charging in. "It was peaceful in here! Who's doing the yelling?"

You are, thought Nick, but he opted for an apology. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I sometimes use more voice than I should. I work on the range you see."

She pushed back a strand of dull blond hair and glared at him. "Well, what do you want?"

"I, um..." He turned to look back outside. Was it too late to change his mind?

"Out with it," she insisted. She placed her palms flat on the counter and drummed her fingers. "I've got baking to do."

Nick plastered on a half-smile because that was all he could manage for this woman. "I met your husband outside. He said you would rent a room to me."

"Oh," she blew out a breath and flipped open the registration book. She ran a finger down the page, testily tapping her red polished nail at every other line.

"Got a room with a view?" he said jokingly, wanting to see if the sour woman's looks improved if she returned him a smile. He was out of luck.

"A room with a view?" she huffed. "Room 2. You can have a view of the stables."

She shoved a rusty key at him, scraping it across the counter. He lifted his brows. Touchy. He tapped his fingers without picking it up. "Is there...uh...another hotel hereabouts?"

"'Fraid not. What's your name, honey?" she dipped her quill in the ink and waited as a drop landed like a pool of blood on the register.

"Nick Barkley." He bit his cheek. He said it again. Good God! He was no good at this being secretive act. He was too blamed honest!

She wrote in his name and when she looked at him again, her mood had shifted considerably. She smiled this time. The woman was actually beautiful, but not in a pleasing sort of way. It was more like a prickly sort of way-like a spider.

She took his wrist and turned over his open palm, all the while giving him a look like some black widow in the center of her web. She placed the key in his palm and gently folded his fingers around it. Goosebumps made a trail up Nick's forearm when her nails lightly scraped his flesh.

"You don't know where you are, do you Mr..." she glanced at the register, casting down her long black lashes. "Barkley?" A smirk had formed on her lips when she flicked her gaze up again.

Nick pulled his hand away. Beads of sweat began to bud in his palms. "This is Strawberry, Mrs. Simms. I know exactly where I am and why I'm here." He rapped the counter with his knuckles. He held up the key and tossed her a questioning look.

"Up the stairs to the right," she replied. "Can't miss it."

"Thank you."

Martha let her eyes follow the young man as he walked up the stairs. So this was Nick Barkley. Fine shoulders, she thought. So young and handsome. Innocent too, in his way. Too bad she couldn't play with him a while, but she had bigger plans. If his family paid out that $50,000 like Bill said they would, she would be far away from here in a month's time living the life she deserved. Still, a tumble with him would put her in a better frame of mind. She bit her lip and took a cleansing breath, "Martha, you are a married woman." she guffawed at that thought, and went back to the kitchen.

Nick entered room two and quickly closed the door behind him. He turned the key in the lock and pressed his ear to the door. He'd never seen a witch before, but he was certain he'd just rented a room from one. That laugh! It set off a prickly feeling that skittered throughout his entire body. He eased away from the door. "The sooner I'm out of Strawberry, the better!"


	8. Chapter 8

Nick washed up in the basin and put on the only other set of clothes he brought with him, a white shirt and a pair of coal black pants that were decent enough to wear into town. He left the other clothes draped over a chair by the open window and hoped that they would be wearable tomorrow if he needed them.

The wet boots he wore into Strawberry would take a couple of days to dry thoroughly. Oh how he longed for the dry ones he'd given Heath. He slipped his dry socks into the cold boots and dreaded the dampness he'd have to endure. The grateful look in the young boy's face had been worth the sacrifice though. It looked like the Simms boy hadn't had a pair of decent shoes in a long time. He frowned at the thought of that boy having to grow up under such meager conditions when his parents seemed to take care of themselves well enough.

He looked in the mirror and combed back the bangs that had again fallen into his eyes. All right, when this was over, he'd go for that haircut Mother had been hounding him to get. He reached for his hat, tried it on, posed for a moment and tried different attitudes. Which would be appropriate for a stranger to present in town if he wanted information? Which would give him the best feedback? An honest look? He tried it. He pushed his hat up in the front and smiled, giving himself a wink. Nah. Too friendly. A confident look...he dipped the brim diagonally to one side. Nah. Made him appear arrogant. How about just straightforward? He settled it squarely over his brow. He toughened his frown a little. Maybe.

He removed the hat. He wished he'd brought Jarrod with him. He knew exactly how to present himself, always had the right words, the right everything and he enjoyed the work. As far as Nick was concerned, if this was what it took to do investigative work, he didn't much like it.

Well, he was ready as he ever would be. He headed for the door and remembering his gun belt, he turned to retrieve it. He didn't expect to bump into Bill Tennant immediately or ever for that matter. On second thought, a gun would distract people, put them on guard. He left the gun in his room-for now. He exited and closed the door behind him.

As he jogged down the stairs, Mrs. Simms swept into the room with her arms extended as if she were putting on a one act play just for him. This town was loco.

"Are you joining us for supper, Mr. Barkley?" she asked melodically. She latched onto his arm. She smelled of burnt eggs and...Lavender. Not a good combination.

"Um, no. No ma'am and thank you, but..." He pulled his arm free and quickened his pace, putting distance between them. "I uh, have some business to take care of. I'm eating at the cafe."

"Ha! In Strawberry?" She put her hands on her hips. "You have no business in this town."

He paused at the door and sent her a condescending look, "Ma'am, is this truly how you handle your paying guests?" He shook his head. "I'll spread the word," he said and left.

Once outside, he put on his hat. Since he couldn't lie his way out of a paper bag, he opted for the straightforward approach. He'd just have to be himself. He started across the street toward the cafe. A meal was sounding very good right now.

Outside the cafe was a row of five rocking chairs. A matching pair of old folks sat in the first two. The woman wore a brownish dress of small print flowers. From the looks of it, the dress had been in her wardrobe for quite a while. The faded pattern was worn at the elbows and the taut material pulled at the buttons, but the dusty brown haired woman seemed content as she sat and knitted something from a gray ball of wool.

The man wore loose overalls. His cheeks were sunken and age spots showed through the thin strands of hair that lingered on his head. His face was brown and leathery from years of toil in the sun. Both looked as if they'd had their share of life's work and were now resting up for eternity. The man chewed the end of his pipe, squinting as Nick approached.

"Good evening, sir," Nick said as he removed his hat. He nodded at the woman. "Good evening, Ma'am."

She looked up from her knitting and pushed her tiny glasses up. "Oh, good evening."

As he opened the door to the establishment, he overheard her say, "What a nice young man."

He wasn't certain how to begin a conversation about the Thomsons, so he decided to let the woman's positive comment settle between them for a bit and after he had his supper, he would step out and chat a while with them, casually bringing up the Thomsons. He paused inside the door. This was going to take forever. How did Jarrod get this kind of stuff done so efficiently? By now, his brother would already know where the Thomsons lived, how much money they made, what the mother's maiden name was, and the names on the branches of her family tree going back a hundred years. What did Nick expect to accomplish in a day? He only knew cattle, and he was happy to admit he was damned good at it.

"Hello," said a friendly, matronly woman wearing an apron. "Have a seat. Anywhere will do."

Nick observed the tiny cafe. He saw only three round tables with checkered cloths. Two chairs at each with an extra in a corner. No customers. "Thank you."

"Our special today is fried chicken," she said sweetly. "I suggest you order that. It's all we got. But it's to die for."

"Then I'll have the chicken."

"Fried?"

"Fried."

"You look like you've traveled a long way today. How about trying our home brew? It'll hit the spot. It's dark and foamy. Very warm and good. "

"I'll take what you've got. That sounds good."

She left the table and Nick put his hat down across from him. He scrubbed his face. This is going to be a long, long night.

She came back with his beer and he took a swallow. It went down nicely. "Even flavor. Smooth."

"It's our Amber."

"Amber..."

"Our daughter's name. Amber. She brews the beer. She's been workin' on this particular recipe for a while now. I think she's hit the right balance of hops and barley. The whole town loves it. She's hoping to branch out and establish a brewery with this as her signature creation. Do you think she can do it?"

"Well, ma'am, I don't know about the business end, but she's got a good product."

"We're lookin' for investors," she said, clasping her hands together. "You'd be the first."

"Oh, well, maybe, but I've got a little business to take care of too. Maybe you can help me."

"Oh, she said with a huge grin, sensing a business transaction. "What do you sell?"

Nick eased into the purpose of his visit. "Not selling anything. I'm looking for a family that lives around here. The Thomsons. You know them?"

"Thomsons?" she barked. Her grin vanished like snow flurries in the desert. "I don't know anything about them." She whirled and disappeared into the kitchen.

She came out a few minutes later with a plate of food; she slammed it onto the table and sauntered back to the kitchen without a word.

Harsh town, Nick thought. He bit into the hot, juicy chicken. Not bad. The spicy coating made his mouth water. "Say, ma'am?" he called. "I think you have an investor for this chicken!"

When he received no reply, he shrugged and dug into his food.

* * *

When Heath finally made it back into town, he knew he was in for it. Nugget had needed some care after the river incident and Heath discovered a gash in the horse's front leg. It wasn't so severe that the horse would have to be put down, but it needed care. Heath had walked Nugget all the way back to town.

Matt was standing in the yard when Heath approached. The boy knew his uncle was angry from the stance he took, but he never wanted to show the man any fear, so without hesitation, Heath led Nugget toward him.

Heath knelt and rubbed a hand along the horse's left front leg to show Matt what had happened. "Nugget cut his leg and went lame a mile back and I had to-" He heard the rushing footsteps, and didn't have time to stand before the man grasped his ear in his fist and yanked him to his feet.

Heath let out a gasp and tried to protest, but Matt pulled him to the shed and threw him against the wall. The boy turned and held his bloody ear, burning with rage. "What was that for?"

Matt grabbed him by the collar and yanked him up, pinning him at the base of the throat with his fist. "You tried to warn him, didn't you!?" he growled.

"What? Who?"

"Barkley. You tried to keep him away from Strawberry?" Matt bared his teeth and spit the words. "You know how much he's worth to me? Do you?"

"Why? Are you going to steal his money while he sleeps?"

Matt swung at him, but Heath blocked the blow with his arm. Matt pressed harder on his neck, making Heath gasp. "I'm getting myself and my wife out of this godforsaken town before it kills me and there aint nobody going to get in my way, especially a dirty orphan like you. Do you understand that, boy?"

Heath twisted, but Matt's grip was firm. "I get it," Heath choked. "This town may have killed my mother, but at least it didn't take her soul. She's in heaven. You're going straight to hell."

"You are a little fool! This town didn't kill your mother, boy! You did!" Matt was in his face now. "All that shame she carried every day because her bastard son proved to everyone the kind of woman she was. No decent man would have her! She was a burden to Martha and me. We could barely afford to keep ourselves fed, let alone Leah and her bastard. We wouldn't have to DO this if it weren't for you. That's a damned fact!" He shoved Heath against the shed again. "Now you stable that horse and get the hell out of here. Don't let me see your face around this place again, or I'll do to ya what I shoulda done twelve years ago."

He released Heath with a shove, and Heath slid to the ground. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks. Anguish choked him and left him gasping. Matt slammed into the hotel, never looking back. Heath's gaze traveled up the drain pipe to the one lit room upstairs. In that room, a stranger awaited an unknown fate. Nick...somebody. Heath didn't care anymore. He shot his glance to Nugget who stood patiently waiting for someone to take care of him. "Stable yourself!" Heath cried and he bolted from the yard, leaving those awful, heavy burdens in the hands of fate.

* * *

"That was the most delicious meal I've ever had," Nick said as he stepped onto the porch. He wasn't necessarily lying. He had enjoyed it. The only thing he would have added was soft biscuits. That would have hit the spot. He casually walked across the wooden planks to the other side of the old couple who still sat where they were when he first entered the cafe.

"You folks lived here long?" he said, knowing it was a very lame question.

"Since the first homestead. Years ago," said the woman. "We seen Strawberry come and go."

"Bet you've seen a lot of people come and go too." That remark did not earn him a reply. Impatient now, he said, "I'm looking for a family who used to live here-"

The old man sat up straight, his eyes wide. He threw out his arm and pointed to the street with his pipe. "Look at that boy go!" he whooped. "Do ya see him?"

"Oh, yes," said the woman. "Youth has such vitality."

Nick turned and saw who he was talking about. A boy was indeed running through town like the wind. "It's Heath!" he exclaimed with no small amount of amazement.

"Yeah," the old man said. He shoved the pipe back into his mouth. "He's a runner."

With a wide grin, Nick looked back at the old man. "I bet he's got a story to tell!"

The old man spared not a glance at Nick. "Eyah...but around here, folks mind their own business." He lit his pipe and continued to rock in silence.

Nick propped his forearm on the post and watched Heath run until he disappeared into the desolate landscape. Then, Nick turned his attention to the darkening town and the looming hotel across the street. He bit the tip of his thumb in thought. Something sure as hell was off. He realized he'd never find out anything from talking to these two. He'd have to just spend his night in that hotel across the street and see what he could see.

"Well, goodnight, folks." He stepped into the street toward the hotel.

"Night." said the man.

"What do you think he's after, Amos?" said the woman.

"Trouble," the old man replied. The boards creaked beneath the motion of his chair. "Nothing but trouble."


	9. Chapter 9

Heath ran through the overgrown weeds to the front porch where he and Momma used to live. He wanted to rip the boards from the windows with his bare hands. He wanted to go inside and pretend that he hadn't had this horrible day. His Momma would have supper ready and a warm fire in the stove. She would take care of him. She always did. He hadn't thought he needed her anymore, hadn't wanted to, but today...he missed her more than anything and at that moment he was sure that without Leah Thomson, the world wasn't worth living in.

He pressed his face to a crack in the boards covering the window and could not see inside. He gripped hard on the top of the board that blocked his view to tear it from the house he loved. A thick splinter slid into his thumb and he jerked back the hand. When he pulled out the splinter, blood pooled in a perfect ball on the pad of his thumb. He pressed the injury to his pant leg and stared at the roughly-hewn panels that blocked him from entering the house. No amount of wishing and dreaming would bring back what was past. Momma was gone forever. There was no going back. That was the cruel hard nature of the world God created. There was no questioning, no understanding. What was, was. So he backed away from the shuttered window and sat on the old porch swing until the sun disappeared and a cold wind blew between the coarse threads of his shirt.

It was well past dark when Heath finally came home to the little green cabin he shared with Hannah. She was not Momma, but she did care for him. She worried when he was late and for that Heath felt guilt. She was his family now. Everything left to him in this world was here contained in three small rooms.

She heard him come in. "You're late. Wash up," Hannah said without looking back. "I'll get your supper ready."

He didn't want her to see him. She would know intuitively that something was very wrong. She would keep him up until he told her everything. He didn't know what to say. He hadn't decided how he felt about what happened in town and about Matt's awful words. He could not tell her anything about that.

Instead of acknowledging her, Heath went quickly to his room and latched the door, knowing that Hannah would soon follow. He took off the boots Nick had given him, and setting them by his bed, he remembered clearly the young man who gave them to him when he had no real reason to. Was it sympathy or just plain generosity? Heath spent enough time with Nick Barkley to know he was an honest man of clean conscience. Vultures were circling around that fellow and he had no inkling. For that Heath felt another pang of guilt. He owed Nick something. At least a warning.

But Nick had been looking for him. That was why he came to Strawberry and that was the prickliest notion of all. No one had any reason to look for Heath Thomson. He was just a boy who did his chores and went to church on Sunday.

There came a soft knock at his door. "Heath?" Hannah said. "Anything wrong?"

He tried to sound tired. "I'm not hungry," he said. "Just worked too hard today. I'm going to bed."

That seemed to be reason enough, for it was often that Matt had him work so hard he missed supper. Hannah let him be.

He crawled into the bed fully dressed and wrapped the covers around him. His thoughts filled with unanswered questions. He didn't sleep for a long, long time.

* * *

The cards shuffled flawlessly in Nick's expert hands. He sat alone in the hotel parlor with his second class of whiskey on the table beside him. He had tried to drum up a poker game, small stakes, nothing to break the bank in his saddlebags, but something that would draw Matt Simms out for a round.

He hadn't been able to interest any of the other two patrons. They ignored his offer for a game. That was what this town was good at. Ignoring people. Those tight-lipped fellows up and left an hour ago. Good riddance was all Nick could say about it. He finished a few rounds of Solitaire and was about to give up when Simms strolled in.

"Blackjack?" Simms said hopefully.

"Poker."

"Deal me in." Simms pulled up a chair. "'Fraid I don't have much to put up."

"Two-bit ante?" Nick said. "That shouldn't break anybody's bank."

"You're not from Strawberry or you wouldn't say that." Matt tossed a quarter to the center of the table. "I'm in. I feel a windfall headed my way."

Nick caught a look in Simms eye he wasn't comfortable with, but he had not been completely comfortable in this hotel. There was a story here. He sensed it in Simms and his wife, and Nick figured this must be the kind of intuition Jarrod felt all the time when he worked cases. He let Simms tap the deck and then he dealt. "Five card stud."

The game played for a long time without conversation, just each man eying each other and laying down their bets. It seemed to be Simms's lucky night. He was up sixty-eight dollars. An unusually quiet Martha Simms dropped by to top off Nick's whiskey, but he put up his hand. "No thank you, Mrs. Simms. I have to keep a sober eye on your husband here."

Simms laughed and seemed genuinely pleased with himself as he straightened the money in front of him. "It's getting late, Barkley."

"You gonna give me a chance to win back some of my money?" Nick asked. "Two more hands."

"All right."

It was Matt's turn to deal. He laid down a card in front of Nick.

"I was hoping I'd see Heath this evening," Nick said.

"What for?"

"I wanted to thank him for keeping me off that bridge. He seemed to know that it would fall."

Simms grunted and muttered, "Probably rigged it himself. I'll have to get on that boy."

"Y' think so?" Nick asked. "Seemed like an honest boy to me."

"Well, he's good at that. He's got that honest look down pat. Don't let it fool you." Simms grunted. "He didn't even stable the horse. Had a gash in its leg and he left him in the yard. I had to stable him myself. The boy is irresponsible. Your bet."

Nick studied his hand. He hadn't had a decent hand all night, this one was no exception. He threw down a dollar. "Do you have any idea why I came to Strawberry, Mr. Simms?"

He looked at Nick carefully. "Should I?"

"I came here looking for somebody, but I don't suppose you would tell me anything. This whole town is so closed-mouthed when it comes to talking about people."

"And rightly so," said Simms. "When the mines were open speculators swarmed in. Plenty of folks lost a lot of money. Some their life savings. You learn quick not to trust new people...and even some you thought you knew." Simms let that sink in for a moment. "But, you're our guest. Seems right that we should help you."

Nick hadn't considered that angle before. It gave him pause. Father had come to Strawberry often in those years. He must have had contact with those shady dealers. He frowned. He didn't like where his thoughts were leading him. "I'm looking for..." Nick wanted to be up front, but again he felt the strain of knowing he'd lied to his family in coming here. "I'm looking for a boy. Last name of Thomson."

"Thomson, eh?" said Simms. "Why are you lookin' for him?"

Nick's gaze sharpened. "You know him?"

Simms set the deck aside. "Sure, I know him. He's my nephew."

"Your nephew?"

"Might as well tell you. The boy's an orphan. We do the best we can with him, but he's trouble just like his momma was. She passed six months ago. God rest her soul."

Nick couldn't believe what he was hearing. He still didn't trust Simms but the information was too tempting not to follow. "Where does he live?"

"Old green cabin just on the outskirts. The boy lives with his mother's housekeeper. Her name's Hannah." Simms shook his head. "Leah Thomson was a loose woman. An embarrassment to the family. I can only assume who the boy's father was...can you?" A smirk grew on his face as he watched Nick.

Dumbfounded, Nick could only stare at him open-mouthed, which seemed to amuse Simms. Nick felt the heat of shame rising within him. Simms knew exactly why Nick was here. He didn't know what was happening, but he realized he'd better get a solid hold of it. "You'd better stop there, Simms."

"Truth hurts, doesn't it, Mr. Barkley?"

Nick's palms began to sweat. He brushed them off on his pants and wished for his gun. Why did he think to leave it in his room? He didn't plan to say it, he didn't even think it before the words came out of him. "Heath isn't your boy Mr. Simms. He's Heath Thomson, isn't he?"

Nick caught movement to his right and looked to see Martha Simms bolting the front door. She turned and leaned against it with a satisfied smile.

"I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but-"

"Poker, Mr. Barkley. And I've got an ace up my sleeve," Simms said. "He's all yours, Bill."

Nick twisted to get up and saw the man behind him, and the black flash of metal as Bill Tennant's pistol bashed into Nick's skull. Nick fell under the table, dimly aware of toppling furniture and the hum of coins spinning on the floor. His weakened arms and legs worked like jelly in his scramble to get to his feet, but the second blow came, and his body fell limp.

"You hit him too hard!" cried Martha. "You killed him!"

"He's alive," came Bill's voice. "He'll wish he was dead."

The scent of spilled whiskey and his own blood enveloped Nick as he slid into the blackness. His last conscious thought was of how right Bill Tennant was.


	10. Chapter 10

When Heath awoke, the scent of coffee and bacon filled the cabin. Hannah always made a solid breakfast because they both never knew if their work would keep them from a proper lunch.

He rolled over and discovered that his neck was sore from when Matt had pinned him against the shed. He didn't have a mirror in his room to know what it looked like. He simply pulled his collar up more and hoped that would be good enough.

But it wasn't. Hannah instantly reacted.

"Heath! What happened to your neck?" she exclaimed as he entered the kitchen. "And your ear! There's blood."

He covered his ear and felt the crusty dried blood he'd neglected to wash off last night.

"I got into it with the Brightons. It's nothing."

"Them boys aint welcome here no more." Hannah said firmly. "No more. I don't care how sick their folks is. Lord Jesus!" Hannah turned to the sink. "Sit down at the table. I want to clean that up."

She took the hot water from the stove and got clean rags from the cabinet. "Now you sit here and let me take care of you."

Heath dropped into the chair at the table and waited. His gaze fell to the Bible his momma had read nightly. It was open because Hannah had taken to reading it since Momma died.

He thumbed through to the family records pages. The Bible showed Leah Thomson's parents and their daughters Martha and Leah. Other siblings were listed, but Heath knew nothing of them.

"Hannah," Heath said quietly, not sure how to begin. "Who was my father?"

"I never knew him." She took a warm cloth and began cleaning his wounded ear.

"I asked who he was. If you know, tell me." The warm ministrations soothed his mind. Helped him think.

"All I know is his last name. Thomson."

"Did he ever love my momma?"

"I don't rightly know."

Heath looked at her, stricken. "Didn't he have to love her? I mean a man wouldn't just-"

Hannah cut him off, not wanting to discuss that matter. "I'd never tell you a lie, Heath. I just don't know. When I met your momma, you were already walkin' and getting into everything. She had to work and I helped her keep her house and her boy in good care. Leah did love the man. She told me that much. She believed he loved her, but no one knows the heart of a man, but the man himself."

"He abandoned her. And me. Why would a loving man do something like that?" Heath fisted his hands. "He was the bastard."

"Heath. Now don't go talkin' like that."

"It's truer for him than for me."

"Did them Brighton's say things like that? Did they call you a bastard? They're the ones vandalizing the town. Throwing rocks through windows...runnin' off livestock..."

"Doesn't matter. Truth is truth, no matter who does the telling."

"You're right, love." A troubled look crossed Hannah's face and she rose from the table. "And truth always has a way of finding you whether you're ready for it or not." She moved slowly to a cedar trunk that held her personal possessions. She opened the lid and withdrew a small nondescript wooden box. She held it close and shut her eyes for a moment as if in prayer, and then she brought it to the kitchen.

She set it on the table in front of him. "It's yours. When Leah was sick and she knew she was dying, she asked me to keep this for you. She made me promise not to give it to you until you were a grown man and had a good head on your shoulders, but..." Hannah shook her head. "I don't know of anyone around here who has a better head on his shoulders than you, Heath. Leah won't like this, but she's gone, and we can hash out that argument the day I meet her again in heaven. I say, you have a right to it now."

Heath's throat went dry. "What's in it?"

"I've never opened it. It doesn't belong to me, Heath. It belongs to you." She placed her hand on his cheek and kissed the top of his head. "Your heart's breaking. I can only hope that whatever is inside that box is what you need to mend it."

Hannah moved away from him, but he turned to her. "Don't leave, Hannah. If it's time for the truth, I want you to know it too."

* * *

Leah Thomson sat in her sick bed. Snips of paper and trinkets that lay about on the quilt were memories from her life she wanted to share with Heath one day. She placed each item into the little box with care, for she knew her son would be the first person to see them again, but not for another decade would these memories see the light of day.

She took the locket that had been her mother's and had placed her own picture inside. It was the only picture she had of herself, but in it she looked youthful and strong and in her eyes was a hope for the future. It was hard for her to remember a time where she could have been those things. She wanted Heath to remember her that way, instead of the wasted and frail woman she had become.

She picked up the newspaper clippings, the ones she had saved that told the stories of the man she had loved long ago. They were a record of his business dealings in Strawberry and in Stockton and his generous philanthropy toward both communties. Scattered here and there Heath would be able to piece together a picture of his father he could be proud of. Tom Barkley had built the schoolhouse in Strawberry. He had made sure there was a park in the middle of that bustling town for families to spend time together.

Also, hidden in the clippings, Heath would find the names of Tom Barkley's first family. The one that bore the Barkley name. Wife Victoria, sons Jarrod and Nicholas. Their names were all here, though only in black and white. Leah sighed. She never delved too deeply into the lives of the family Tom Barkley had briefly set aside in order to be with her. She hadn't wanted to know the woman and children whose lives would be torn apart by his infidelity.

She didn't want to fall for the man, but she did. And it couldn't be helped. They'd been drawn to each other so passionately. Leah was too young not to give in to the fantasies of a husband and family of her own. She had lied to herself so completely, convinced Tom was the one who would make this dream come true. Hopes of that kind shamed the woman she grew to become. She had desired another woman's husband and had held him for a brief time.

They'd both came to their senses gradually and Leah did not wish to burden him with the knowledge of another son. It would ruin him. She could not bear that thought.

Now she could not bear the thought of Heath knowing the truth. One day, she hoped he would find it in his heart to forgive her. She folded the clippings neatly into an envelope and placed it in the box.

Last, she placed the handwritten letter in which she poured her heart to the man her son would one day be. She would die soon, that she knew. She would not be there to comfort him when he learned the truth. She prayed for Heath's love and forgiveness and then she closed the box leaving her relationship with her only son in the loving hands of God.

* * *

Hannah placed a gentle hand on Heath's back as he read through the papers from the box. She had pulled him close when the news became too much for him, but to his credit, he did not cry much. He straightened when he was through and asked that Hannah also read his momma's letter.

She argued with him at first, not wanting to pry, but Heath told her that she was his family now and there should be no secrets between them.

After she read it, she quietly folded the letter, and slipped it back into the envelope.

"You read Momma's letter," said Heath. "You know about me and about Leah."

"She didn't want me to be reading a private note for you. It's not right."

Heath placed the letter in the box. "Secrets like these cause heaps of trouble. I love my momma dearly. I miss her something awful, but she was wrong to keep this information from me and if she were here right now, I would tell her that much."

"True."

"I don't want any more secrets between you and me. I've had enough of 'em."

"There are no secrets-"

"There's plenty," Heath said. "Here's the first one you need to know about." He indicated the bruises at his neck. "The Brightons didn't do this to me. Matt did."

Her eyes went wide with indignation. "Matt did that to you?"

"Yes. He and Martha are planning something terrible, and I have to stop them if it's not too late."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"Hannah, look here." Heath grabbed one of the clippings and pointed to a name in the article. "Nick Barkley's my brother. He's in Strawberry at this very moment. Yesterday, he came looking for me. I even talked to him for a while, but I didn't know who he was."

"He's here?"

"Matt and Martha put him up at the hotel." Heath pushed back from the table and paced. His excitement ratcheted too much for him to stay seated. "They're in cahoots with a shady con man I only know as Bill. Matt warned me not to come back to town. He said he was forced into this thing he was gonna do and didn't want me to mess it up. He said it was gonna help him and Martha get out of Strawberry for good. Nick is in awful trouble." Famished, Heath snatched a piece of warm bacon from the plate on the stove and popped the savory tidbit into his mouth.

"This sounds just like a dime novel!" Hannah exclaimed. At Heath's disbelieving stare, she amended. "Not that I read them. They're sinful trash. What do you think Matt plans to do?"

"To him, Barkleys mean money, plain and simple," Heath replied snatching another slice. "He's gonna take from them every penny he can get his greedy hands on."

"I never much liked Matt and Martha. I always knew they would come to no good." Hannah looked down at the clippings scattered on the table and seemed to come to a decision. "The good Lord spoke to me today, Heath. He wanted me to give you that box. There must be a good reason for it." She looked at him with a gleam of determination in her eyes. "What are we sittin' around here for? The Lord's on our side. Finish breakfast. We're going into town."

Heath grinned. "Yes ma'am!"


	11. Chapter 11

A low rumble roused Nick to consciousness. Pebbles and rock filtered down and dusted him. He coughed to expel the bitter dirt from his mouth. This sudden movement made his head feel like someone had taken a hammer to it. The dank smell of earth filled his nostrils, and he saw nothing but black. He pushed himself up and his left shoulder ached from the effort. It was then he realized his left arm was caught over his head up and behind him at a weird angle. He pushed himself into a sitting position and blindly reached up to his wrist, realizing that it was shackled to a cold, hard rock wall. He let out a growl of frustration. Bill Tennant had been there in the hotel. He hit him over the head. He did this! And those Simms scoundrels...why hadn't he seen it coming? Mariano had warned him to be careful and Nick hadn't listened.

No amount of blinking helped his eyes adjust and find a light source which told him he was deep underground. To get a better sense of his surroundings, he stretched out his free hand and found nothing but dust and rock. Anger welled in him...that, and a tinge of fear which seemed to be growing exponentially.

He worked at freeing his wrist. He twisted it, turned it, pulled and squeezed his hand trying to back it out of the metal band. He could not free it an inch. An eyelet bolt anchored his wrist to the wall, he grasped the cold metal and attempted to twist it out. He put his strength into it, but it didn't budge.

He would pull it out then, using everything he had. He scooted around until he could get his feet against the wall and groaning with effort, he pulled. Panting, he tried again and pain shot up his arm. He stopped, out of breath, and realized he would pull his arm off before breaking the shackle that bound him.

"Hey!" he shouted as loud as he could, but his voice did not carry very far. It died quickly in what Nick surmised was a small chamber. He had no way of knowing where he was, how far down he was, and who, if anyone would ever hear his cries for help.

The fear inside him grew. His heart raced and he could not control his breathing. It was panic. He'd felt these symptoms a few years before when a mine shaft he'd been exploring had collapsed, nearly killing him. That time, he lay trapped for nearly two days before anyone found him. Those were the most horrific days he'd ever experienced, and he swore he'd never be in a situation like that again. But here he was. The idea came to him that he might have been left here to die alone and slowly of thirst. Did Tennant hate him that much? He wanted to keep his anger alive enough to squelch his mounting anxiety. "Bill Tennant!" he yelled. "You're a coward! Do you hear? A coward!"

Hollering only made his head throb. His skull felt as if it would crack open at any moment. He leaned against the rock and felt the tender place behind his ear. The lump he found worried him and the gash that accompanied it was sticky and slowly oozing blood. He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself enough to come up with some sort of plan. If there could possibly be one.

* * *

Mariano found a buyer for his mother's house. He'd met the man on Sunday and made the deal that morning. This was the news he'd come to the Barkley ranch to tell Nick. The quick sale of the property solidified the fact that he would be leaving for Mexico to help his uncle and perhaps never return to this valley he loved so much. He would miss Nick. He'd grown to love him as a brother. Indeed, the Barkleys were his extended family.

When he arrived at the work site, Mariano found out that Nick was supposed to have been with him all weekend. That was the official story Nick had provided the men. They said he hadn't been at the ranch for two days. When Mariano headed toward the main house, a feeling of dread came over him.

He dismounted at the front porch, opting for expediency rather than keeping the horse out of the yard. He rushed to the front door and knocked. The house was empty which had never been the case for as long as Mariano had known the Barkley's. A caretaker or family member had always been to the door to greet him.

This time, he received no answer. He turned and looked around the yard. Nothing else seemed amiss until a breeze caused the flutter of a piece of paper caught in the bushes. He picked it up and examined it.

"Barklys," it began. Mariano read the note with mounting agitation. "¡Ay! Dios mio... 50,000 dollars!" He recognized Tennant's tight scrawl, and only a damned fool like him would do something so blatant as to hold Nick Barkley for ransom. He crumpled the note in his fist and ground his teeth. He looked about the place again as if he might find the son-of-a-bitch lingering nearby and be able to shoot him dead right here. "Bill Tennant, I swear to God! If you have harmed my brother-" He hopped off the porch bypassing the steps and mounted his horse swiftly.

Nick hadn't heeded his warning. He'd gone to Strawberry alone. Mariano berated himself. He should have been there with him. "Nick! You mule-headed idiot!" He urged his horse to a gallop.

* * *

The walk to town seemed like forever to Heath. When he finally saw the buildings, he knew it was time for them to part. "Just go on and act like nothing has happened," Heath told Hannah. "You're just going to do your regular cleaning chores."

"I'm not sure I can put up an act, knowing what I know, but I'll try."

"That's good." Heath said. "Just remember to let me in through the side door next to the linen closet. If Matt sees me, he'll have my hide."

"He won't ever lay a hand on you again. Not as long as I'm breathin'."

Heath smiled. "Thanks, Hannah."

"Get going, now. Let's rescue that brother of yours."

An unexpected surge of pride hit him. This only child now had a big brother. The fact that he actually met Nick and liked him made this revelation all the more exciting. Heath was about to do his brother a big favor, if he got to him in time.


	12. Chapter 12

Heath beat a circuitous route to the hotel to avoid Matt's eyes. His enthusiasm for his task in helping his brother made him run faster than usual and he arrived at the hotel before Hannah. He saw no sign of Matt or Martha. He edged toward the livery. It would be a good place to hide while he watched for Hannah's signal to enter the establishment.

He slipped inside. The livery was just a small building originally constructed to stable four horses, but not for any long amount of time. Just overnight. It had become a place for Nugget to reside and the occasional horses of guests for the hotel.

Nugget's stall was empty. The thought of that old horse brought back the painful memory of the confrontation with Matt. Heath hoped that Nugget's hurt leg was steady enough for Matt to have taken him out this morning.

The next stall held a horse, fully outfitted. From the bell-shaped white patch on its rump, he recognized it as Nick's.

"Hello Bell," he said.

The horse's ears pricked at the name.

"Is that your name? Bell?"

He examined the horse. Such a beautiful animal. Strong. Willful, judging by the way he watched Heath and stomped his front hoof. Heath wanted to ride him and take him as fast as he could run him. The horse was saddled to go somewhere and soon. A flour sack was tied to the saddle horn, and Heath pulled the drawstrings loose to peek inside.

When he saw the golden glint of brass bullets, he took the bag and emptied it onto the floor. Out sprawled a gun belt with a row of ammunition and a colt revolver. The gun was well-kept and clean. Loaded. On the handle was engraved T. Barkley 1856. Fancy lettering too. His father's gun.

He caressed the smooth gray metal. What he wouldn't give just to shoot it once. Why would Nick leave such an elegant gun in the stall in a flour sack? It made no sense. Heath knew by now to rely first on instinct, because you never knew if or when facts will filter down to you. He set the gun belt aside and grabbed a harness from the wall and he tied to it a couple of horseshoes for weight and dropped them in the bag. He looped the drawstring back over the saddle horn. That would fool a Simms well enough.

He snatched the gun belt and hid behind a barrel by the door and watched for Hannah's signal.

* * *

Even when she worked at the tavern cleaning up after the drunken miners, some of whom she had to physically move in order to do her job, Hannah never once lied to get out of doing something dreadful. Sneaking around like this felt like lying, even though it was for a good cause. Lying was distasteful, but lying to liars? How was she supposed to feel about that? She decided to put off praying about that until after this job was done and Heath and his brother could finally sit down and get to know each other.

She stepped onto the rickety back porch of the hotel, tried the door, and found it locked. The Simms usually unlocked it by this time of day so that was unusual. She moved on to see if she could get in through the side door.

"Sst! ssst!"

Hannah turned toward the sound and squinted at the livery where it seemed to be coming from. Heath waved a hand over the barrel so she could see him. She nodded.

"Hannah!" Martha shouted out the window.

Hannah spun around. Her hand flew to her heart. "Miss Martha! You scared me."

"Matt locked all the doors but the front this morning and he took the only key," said Martha. "Come in through the front today, and hurry! I have a list of special chores to go over with you."

"I'll be right in." Hannah waited for her to leave the window. She turned to Heath in the livery. "I guess you heard. Matt's not here."  
Heath's head popped into view. "Great! I'll climb in through the window."

Hannah brushed her sweaty palms on her skirt. "Not until I tell you it's safe. Martha aint no pushover you know."

"Hannah!" Martha screeched from deep inside the house.

"Oh dear Lord, that woman!" Hannah muttered and she walked to the front porch.

Heath watched her disappear around the corner. He looped the gun belt over his head and positioned it across his chest. Once again, instinct told him to take action instead of wait for a signal that might never come. He darted for the open window.

* * *

"What took you so long, Hannah?" Martha said when Hannah closed the front door. "Never mind. Come here. I have a lot to tell you, and I don't have much time." Martha was dressed in pants and a coat and had a satchel slung over her shoulder. She was going somewhere for sure and it wasn't to no picnic.

Hannah followed Martha to the registration desk. They passed an overturned table and playing cards scattered all over the floor. And soaked into the carpet, along with a decanter of whiskey, were dark patches of blood.

"What happened here?" Hannah asked.

"Brawl. One of our guests had an extra ace up his sleeve. Matt took care of him. He's carting him out of town as we speak. Good riddance, I say." Martha stood by the register and picked up a piece of paper. "Here's a list of things I need you to do. Well, come on over here. I have to leave in a few minutes."

Hannah pulled herself away from the gruesome scene. The blood stain was as big as a dinner plate. Lord have mercy! Heart racing, she approached Martha wearily.

"Now I want you to do your normal chores, but there are a few extra at the bottom of the list." Martha held up the paper for both to see.

Hannah's eyes were drawn down to the open register. She found Nick Barkley's name. Room 2. She looked up at that room, over the banister at the top of the stairs.

"Are you paying attention?" Martha said. "Try to get that stain out of the carpet if you can. If you can't, just roll it up and have it hauled to the trash heap."

"I understand."

"I'm going to be out of town for a couple of days-"

A soft thump came from the area of the side door and instantly, Hannah knew it was Heath being impatient and entering through that window.

"I have one question, Marth-Miss Martha. It's about the stove."

"Well, all right. What is it?"

Hannah glanced over and saw Heath near the linen closet.

"Oh, Lord! It's in the kitchen."

"Of course it is!"

"I mean, I have to show you."

"Don't take all day."

Hannah was a step behind Martha. She held up two fingers to Heath and pointed to the stairs.

* * *

After the women disappeared into the kitchen, Heath silently entered the parlor and saw the remains of a scuffle and the awful blood stain on the floor. Figuring Hannah wanted him to go see what he could see in room 2, he went up the stairs. With a feeling of dread, he placed his hand on the glass doorknob and turned.

What he found was a pristine room. One that hadn't been lived in since the last time Hannah cleaned it. On second look, the quilt was a little wrinkled as if someone sat on the bed for a moment. The washcloth by the basin was hanging and left to dry. Yes, perhaps Nick had been in the room, but he'd never gone to sleep in here. Heath walked around to the other side of the bed near the window and found lying on the floor a discarded maroon-colored shirt. That was just the color of the shirt Nick wore yesterday when he was dunked in the river.

The gun in the flour sack...the blood stain in the carpet...this shirt...Nick could be dead for all Heath knew. By running off yesterday knowing full well that Nick was being set up for some misdeed, Heath had made himself a party to it. Anger, worry, regret, all bundled up inside him as one explosive powder keg. He stormed to the door and flung it open. He would confront Martha now and wring the truth out of her. But when he rushed to the railing and looked down over the establishment below, he found that Martha and Hannah were no longer in the building. He turned when he heard excited voices outside.

He rushed back into the room to the window and opened it, letting in a hot burst of air from the outside. Below, Hannah stood plastered against the livery while Martha held onto Nick's horse for dear life, but Bell wasn't having her on his back and he bucked ferociously. Martha screamed, then with a sudden kick of the horse's rear legs, Martha flew out of the saddle. Flailing wildly, she came down head first. Heath shut his eyes before she hit the ground. There was a sickening thud and Heath looked again. Hannah had rushed to Martha's side. Martha lay in an unmoving heap on the ground.

Heath slapped the window sill and bolted downstairs. He ran outside so fast that he had to slide on his knees to come to a full stop by the unconscious Martha. "Is she dead?" Heath asked, panting.

"No. She landed on her shoulder, but I don't think she dislocated it," Hannah said.

"How's her neck? Broken?"

"No," Hannah said with notable relief as she felt Martha's neck and shoulders. "No. It don't appear to be broke. She'll be awful sore though, when she wakes up, but I don't expect she'll be talkin' to us anytime soon."

"I don't expect," agreed Heath. "But she will wake up. And she shouldn't be at the hotel when she does. We need to have her secured so she doesn't try to get away from you while I'm looking for Matt."

"You're going after Matt? With that gun? You aint!" Hannah nearly shouted. "I won't let you do it!"

"I have to, Hannah," Heath responded. "That's Nick's blood in there. They've carted him off somewhere hurt like that. He could die. I can't let that happen. I won't let it happen." Heath looked around the backyard. "Now there has to be a way to get her out of here." He spied a rusty wheelbarrow leaning against the shed, by the stack of leftover shingles. "And there it is."

* * *

Heath spread a feed sack over the body in the wheelbarrow and nearly covered Martha completely. Her feet jutted out, but it couldn't be helped. "The jail ought to be good enough for her. Are you ready?"

Hannah grabbed one handle and Heath grabbed the other and they lifted together. Martha didn't look heavy, but underneath all those petticoats she hid her weight well. His arms were under a lot of strain.

"Just easy does it," said Heath. "We'll make it if we pace ourselves."

"Let me say a quick prayer." Hannah closed her eyes. "Oh Lord, you wanted me to help Heath. For his sake and for mine, please don't let nobody see us doin' this. Amen."

"Amen! Let's go."

* * *

Once they arrived at the sheriff's office which took them past several abandoned shops, and thankfully no people to ask questions, Heath stepped into the seat of an old wooden chair and reached for the key that lay flat over the door frame. The sheriff hadn't been by for nearly a month, so he left the key in case the good citizens of Strawberry needed to arrest anyone. The cells inside had become a revolving door for chronic drunks who needed a place to sleep before going home to their wives. Heath unlocked the door. No one was incarcerated this day.

"Martha's getting a private cell," Heath commented as he helped negotiate the wheelbarrow through the skinny door frame. "She'll like that." He moved Martha's foot out of the door jamb and Hannah pushed the barrow all the way inside.

"She won't like that one bit. And this aint funny," Hannah remarked at Heath's laugh. She laughed too. "Oh Heath, you sure we're doing the right thing? It don't feel right."

"This is the only way." Heath opened a cell door and straightened the mattress on the cot. He held his breath. It smelled like vomit, but looked as if someone had cleaned it. A little. "Let's lay her out right here."

Once they maneuvered Martha onto the cot, they left the cell and closed the door with a metal clang. "Here's the key," said Heath. "You won't need it." He glanced at Martha to make sure her chest went up and down with a steady rhythm. "If she needs anything just hand it to her through the bars."

"I don't see a toilet in there."

Heath kicked a metal bucket by the door. "This is good enough. There's a pass-through here," Heath said, indicating a rectangular opening in the bars. "It'll fit. Just don't let her take a hold of your arm when you hand it to her."

Hannah crossed her arms and rubbed them in worry. "It's all right. I've done a lot of jobs in my life. I can be a deputy for a while, at least until the sheriff gets here at the first of the month."

"Maybe you should write a report. Make sure you tell him everything...how they kidnapped my brother...how they tried to kill him in the hotel."

"I don't know that they tried to do that-"

"Play it up. We don't know for sure, but the evidence is pretty clear. Besides, I wouldn't put it past them to try," Heath said. "We still don't know what happened to Rachel. How'd she get in that mine shaft? She was afraid to go near them. She'd never go up there on her own. And you know neither Matt or Martha went to her funeral when nearly everyone else in town showed up."

"Heath! You don't think-oh, Lord!"

"You can't count it out," said Heath. "Well, this is it. I'm gonna ride north and find Nick."

"You be careful. Your momma never intended for this to happen when I gave you that box. She's going to really give me a talkin' to when I see her again."

"My momma is smiling on you today Hannah. I believe that."

"Yeah maybe, but I wonder if the Lord is."

Heath kissed her worried face and Hannah put her hand on her cheek, her eyes shifting to the unconscious woman on the cot. "God be with you, Heath."

"You too, Hannah."

Heath left Hannah in the Sheriff's office, but before he closed the door, he grabbed a white hat that hung on a peg and placed it on his head. Yep, he was on the right side of the law. Sheriff wouldn't mind him taking the hat. Heath and Hannah were ridding the town of criminals. At least Martha was behind bars were she belonged. Her short confession about the cheating gambler at the hotel that Hannah had told him about didn't give Heath all that much to go on.

So Nick was taken away somewhere north of the town. There were some cabins up there in the rocky hills. Old shacks abandoned by the miners years ago now used for occasional shelter for hunters and travelers who didn't want to spend money for shelter in town.

It would take a couple of days just to visit all the cabins he knew. There could be some shelters tucked away in those hills that he knew nothing about. Finding Nick would be like finding a needle in a haystack. Heath knew this haystack pretty well though. He would just start with those areas he knew the best.

He found Bell where they'd left him. The horse's nose was in a feed bucket, he knocked it over looking for the few tidbits that were left at the bottom.

"Your used to better food and more of it, aren't ya, Bell?" Heath said as he took the reins and mounted. "Don't worry, we'll see Nick soon and you'll get some real decent meals. Won't take long-I hope." He guided Bell around to the street.

He knelt when he saw clear wagon tracks leaving the hotel and traveling north. He'd just follow them. He took the gun belt from across his chest and unbuckling it, he fastened it snuggly at his hips, figuring he'd have better luck with it if he could draw it fast. The two other times he'd fired a gun, he had not been too bad a shot. He could kill a man. He'd just have to get close enough that's all. He tied the leather strap around his leg and liked the weight of it.

"You like me, don't you, Bell?" Bell snorted and twitched his ear. "That's right." Heath mounted Bell slowly and when he sensed the animal was relaxed, he started out.

* * *

Libby Keane popped a hard cherry candy into her mouth as she perused the tiny selection of new material at the mercantile. None of it would make a decent dress, but she was considering making an apron for her mother and a matching one for herself. She settled on a wildflower print and smoothed her hand over the soft cloth. "How about this one, Momma?" she asked, tossing a glance over her shoulder.

"It is pretty," her mother said. "How much for the cloth, Mr. Albertson?"

"Nickel a yard," said the heavy man behind the counter. He smoothed his mustache.

"For broadcloth?" she replied. "That's steep..."

"I might be able to trim the price a little, but things are getting tight." Mr. Albertson sighed. "I hate to say, but this town seems to be dying a little more each day."

"Why? What have you heard?"

"The hotel's closing. Matt Simms stopped in this morning. He's gonna put it up for sale. He's already left town."

Liberty put down the soft material and turned to listen to the adults.

"He's left town? So soon? What about Martha?"

"She's leaving today, he said."

"Did they say where they were headed? This is so sudden."

"Said something about San Francisco or maybe even Sacramento," replied Mr. Albertson. "Said he had some business deal that would be quite lucrative. Something about the mines. Like he had a stash of gold in one of 'em. Nonsense if you ask me."

Momma laughed. "He'll come back. Those mines are empty holes. Everything of worth was scraped out and hauled away years ago."

"Excuse me, Momma." Libby said. "I'm going to wait outside."

"All right dear," said Momma. "Don't wander off."

Libby stepped out into the sun and cast her gaze over the street, hoping to catch a glimpse of that blond-headed boy she loved so much. The thought of him leaving Strawberry...well it just couldn't happen, that's all.

She caught sight of him riding down the main street, wearing a handsome white hat and a hard, determined look. The sight of him on such a magnificent horse took her breath away.

"Heath!" she stepped out into the street. "Where are you going?"

He reined the horse to a stop and seemed startled. "Oh, Hi Liberty."

"You're wearing a gun."

Heath looked around as if he didn't want anyone else to notice. "Yeah. I am."

"I heard about your uncle at the mercantile."

"What have you heard?" Sudden interest lit in Heath's eyes. He dismounted and led the horse to the side of the building. Libby followed.

Once they were out of view of the street, she leaned against the warm wood siding. "Mr. Albertson said your Uncle is closing the hotel. He's left Strawberry."

"Where did he go?"

"You don't know?"

"That's the thing about my relatives. They don't tell me anything." He tore off his hat in frustration, slapping it against his thigh.

"Then you're not leaving?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

She reached out and toyed with his collar, lightly brushing her fingertips along his neck. "I hope not."

Heath cleared his throat. "What else did he say? Mr. Albertson."

"Oh, something about a parcel of gold sitting in one of those old mines north of town. Momma thinks Matt Simms is crazy."

"She got that right. Gold in a mine, huh? That just tears it." He propped his hands on his hips. "Did he say which mine?"

"No. That's all I heard."

"Look, Liberty...I've got to go."

"I like the gun, Heath," Libby said, hoping to keep him here until she got up enough nerve. "It suits you."

Heath noticed a different look in her pretty blue eyes. One that spoke more than words of her interest in him. He liked it. "It's my brother's gun."

"You don't have a brother."

"Liberty, there's lots of things you don't know about me..."

"Why can't you call me Libby? Everybody else does."

Heath smiled, his shyness with girls always vanished when it came to this beauty. "I don't know. I just like the sound of it. Liberty. It's a beautiful name for a beautiful girl."

Releasing a deep sigh, Liberty suddenly reached up, grabbed Heath's neck and pulled him to her for a kiss. Heath lost himself for a moment, feeling so many sensations at once. It was as if he'd been asleep his whole life and suddenly awakening. Her lips were so soft and inviting and they tasted just like cherry pop, a flavor that hadn't crossed his lips since the drug store closed a month ago.

When they broke off. He stared into those luminous blue eyes and at that soft, pouting mouth. "Boy howdy," he murmured. It took him a while to come up with anything else to say and she smiled big and pretty at his lack for words. "I'll be back," he finally said. He felt like a soldier going off to war or something. He settled his hat on his head. He started to go but grabbed both of her hands and kissed her quick before leaving.

Feeling light and strong, he vaulted onto Bell without use of the stirrups. When he tipped his hat to Liberty, she leaned against the corner of the mercantile and pressed her cheek against it watching him. "I still want that walk by the spring!" she said.

A sharp tingle shot right through his heart. He decided it best to leave her wanting and rode at a gallop, following the fresh wagon tracks out of town.


	13. Chapter 13

**In** his haste to help his newfound brother, Heath realized he'd forgotten to bring some basic but essential supplies on his quest. Water was top on the list as it was just around 1 PM, the hottest part of the day. Martha had packed supplies for the trip before Bell so forcefully nixed her plans by bucking her out of the saddle. Among her stash was one canteen of water. Heath already drank a few swallows and had provided some to Bell. Of the food, there were two rolls and some beef, a lump of sweaty cheese and one apple. He'd already eaten one of the rolls, but he was starving and still very thirsty.

If Heath himself was in a bind just from a few hours away from home, he couldn't imagine what Nick must be experiencing at the hands of Matt and that con man Bill. Once he found Nick, he might find him to be in need of some kind of sustenance. Heath would have to share what he had. Boy Howdy, but he was hungry! He popped a piece of jerky into his mouth and let it rest between his cheek and gums. The spicy flavor would have to satisfy him for as long as he could stand not simply devouring it.

He pushed the brim of his hat down to block more sun and studied the wagon tracks in the dirt. The terrain had changed sharply since he left town. No longer were the tracks laid out in soft dirt and easy to follow. The trail had broken up in a field of pebbles and rocks. Which had slowed his pace considerably. Now and then he would see a fresh track in the broken blades of grass or a short trough in the dirt, but more and more, he was looking over the pebble strewn landscape for overturned rocks that horses' hooves or wagon wheels had dislodged. Since it hadn't rained in a while, the overturned rocks were not easy to spot. Occasionally, he had to dismount and study the ground like an Indian scout. He'd tracked game before, but no one had taught him how to do it. It was slow and painstaking work and his skills definitely needed sharpening. He knelt at the ground by Bell's hooves and saw nothing to help him. There was no sign anymore of the wagon that carried the injured Nick.

He tore off his hat in frustration, and when he did so, he saw something in the corner of his eye. He pretended to study the trail, but shot a glance back. Yes. There was a rider approaching. He was far enough away so that Heath could only see his silhouette. Fortunately, the fellow's pace was slow.

Heath stood and slipped his hat back on his head. Bell became nervous. He twitched his ears and shifted.

"Yeah. I see him too." Heath put a foot in the stirrup and mounted slowly. "Don't worry, I know just what to do."

Certain the stranger was following him, he guided Bell to an outcropping of boulders large enough to hide him and the horse completely. He positioned himself just behind the solid wall of rock and drew the Colt from his holster. He had shot before. He could kill a man at close range. He gripped the gun tightly and with his thumb, slowly pressed the hammer down. He held the gun, aiming the gray barrel straight ahead where he figured the man would eventually appear.

Minutes seem like hours. Sweat from overwrought nerves and the midday heat rolled into Heath's eyes. He blinked ferociously against the sting, and tried his best to hold the gun barrel steady. He swiped his brow on his sleeve.

_Click!_

Heath froze as he heard the sound of another man's revolver directly behind him cocked and ready.

"For the next minute you have a friend," came the stranger's low, menacing voice. "But if that time passes and you haven't holstered your weapon, you will find me a formidable enemy. Choose wisely."

Heath didn't flinch. He turned his head a little to get a glimpse of the man. All he could tell was that his skin was dark and in his hand was gunmetal gray. The barrel pointed directly at Heath's back. This man had to be in cahoots with Bill. Sweat slicked Heath's palms and he gripped the Colt firmly. "I'm lookin' for my brother." Heath kept his voice level and sure, though he didn't feel it. "I figure on you tellin' me where he is."

"I'm looking for my brother, too," remarked the stranger. "And seeing as you're riding his horse, brandishing his gun, and wearing his boots. You're the one who should be doing the talking."

"I don't take kindly to your accusations, mister," replied Heath. "True. This is my brother's horse. This is his gun. But the boots...those are mine."

"What's your brother's name? Sounds like I might know him."

"Nick Barkley." Heath turned more and got a better look at the stranger's face. Dark hair, dark face, blazing blue eyes. Heath snorted dismissively. "You don't look much like him at all."

"Neither do you." The man tilted the barrel up slightly in a gesture that spoke of truce.

Heath hoped he read the man right. "Fair enough. I don't look like him either, but he is my brother." Heath holstered the Colt and the other man did the same with his weapon. Heath turned Bell around to face him. "Maybe we can help each other out?"

The man briefly scanned the bleak landscape and then came back to focus on Heath. "I'm Mariano Montoya," he said. "Nick and I grew up together. We are as close as brothers can be. You must be the boy named Thomson."

"Yeah," Heath said a little uneasily, not quite sure about this man yet. "Name's Heath. How did you know to come find me a-way out here? In the middle of nowhere?"

Mariano rubbed his jaw. "I came here, because I knew Nick would come to Strawberry to look for you when I warned him against it. Warning Nick not to do something, is the same as ordering him to do it. I should have known better. So I came here to follow his trail. I went to the sheriff's office in Strawberry and met the man's deputy. She was very reluctant to tell me anything at first, but I convinced her to talk."

"You didn't hurt her!" Heath exclaimed. He sat up straight. "If you did anything I'll-"

Mariano smiled. "No. She's a very perceptive woman. I merely explained why I had come to Strawberry and she understood everything. She wanted to make sure you were all right. So, she told me where you went."

"Oh. Good ol' Hannah."

"Was that prisoner in the jail really your aunt?" Mariano said. "I'm terribly sorry. She's a very loud, spiteful woman."

Heath nearly laughed at the kind of ruckus Martha must have been putting up. She couldn't have been hurt too badly if that was the case. "I choose my family." Heath shrugged. "As of yesterday, she's no longer related to me."

"And Nick is?"

"That remains to be seen."

"You're a shrewd fellow, Heath," Mariano said. "Well, then. We must find him together, and then we'll see if he meets your criteria of family."

"I've been looking for Nick for hours now without much success. My Uncle Matt-another person no longer related to me-and a con man named Bill nabbed Nick from the hotel last night."

"Bill Tennant," Mariano rumbled. "The son-of-a-bitch! When I get my hands on him I'll snap his sorry neck!"

"Bill Tennant, huh? I never knew his last name," Heath said. "I'd help you with that, but Nick's hurt so we need to focus on him. There was blood in the carpet at the hotel and they carried him injured out here in a wagon. At least that's what I put together. My girl told me she heard the storekeep-"

Mariano's eyes narrowed as if he couldn't believe a boy so young would say such a thing. "Your girl?"

"Yes. My girl." Heath continued unabashed. "Liberty said she heard Mr. Albertson say something about a parcel of gold in a mine. I can only think the gold was a code word for Nick, being as nothing has been brought out of those mines for years. Matt smelled money on Nick the moment he rode in. I just didn't know he would stoop this low to get to it."

"You knew about this kidnapping plan?"

"No. I just kinda gathered it on my own. By the time I realized what was going on, it was too late. Nick was already gone and now the trail's gone dry and I'm about to lose him. People get lost and' die in these mines all the time 'cause nobody can find them. There are too many shafts, too many tunnels. A man could fall down one of those shafts and be alive for a long time only to die for lack of water and food..." He fought the dread that haunted him. Rachel had fallen or been pushed into a mine shaft and died. What if Bill had done the same to Nick?

Mariano must have sensed the boy's fear and said, "He's been in a situation like this before."

"You're kidding."

"No. No lie," Mariano stated. "About four years ago. Can you believe that man was stuck in another mine shaft? Mines are not his strong suit. We had to search for him then too, and we found him. Only we didn't go around searching blindly like this. We used maps and surveys." Mariano reached into the satchel slung over his shoulder. "Like these." He pulled out a thick packet of folded papers. "Let's find some shade and look at this logically, shall we?"

An unexpected ally. Someone who knew how to begin the search. Heath let out a breath of relief.

Mariano turned his horse around and led them out from the rocky outcrop. Heath followed, wearily looking over the desolate landscape. Nick was his brother. That he knew. The boots Nick had given to him without expecting anything in return, proved it more than any newspaper clippings in a cardboard box. "We'll find you Nick," he said in hopes of swaying the odds in Nick's favor. "We'll find you real soon."

* * *

Time slipped away and Nick no longer knew or had any idea of how long he'd been imprisoned. The not knowing agonized him and he took to thinking about better times and better places, home, family, even the cattle and the range...just to keep fear from consuming him. He also prayed. A lot. Remembering Job and Daniel and the Lion's Den, stories of men who suffered greatly, but lived. He cursed himself for being such a fool. It was his own righteous attitude that got him here. Trying to betray his father. This was the answer Nick deserved. Yes you have a brother in Strawberry, Nick, but you'll never know him. You don't have the right to know him.

_"Nick! Are you here?" a worried voice called, "Nick, answer me!"_

His brother's voice. "Jarrod?" Nick sat upright. "I'm here!" But when he quieted and listened, he heard no footsteps coming, no voices. He was still trapped alone in the dark beneath the ground. The lonely hours had him hearing things and a few times, he thought he saw the flicker of light, but it didn't have a source and seemed to originate from everyplace. Lack of water made his throat dry and his mouth taste like dust. He'd heard of men dying in the desert...the agony they endured. Never for the life of him had he figured he'd die just like that.

The last time he'd been trapped in a godforsaken mine shaft, he could have hope. People knew he was lost. They knew the area he was last seen. This time, no one knew. No one would even be looking for him. But the last time, Jarrod had come. He had known innately to come home and to look for him, would he know now? Years had passed, but in this total darkness, that time years ago seemed to be happening all over again.

Jarrod came with a lantern and was the first to find him. He remained with Nick for hours until men couldn't get the proper equipment down to lift the fallen debris and free him. To keep Nick calm and his mind off the pain, Jarrod preoccupied him with stories about college and tawdry jokes, which under normal circumstances, he would never have told his impressionable younger brother. That time had been the closest that Nick and Jarrod had ever experienced together. It was one of his favorite memories and right now one of his worst.

Once he was clear of the debris and the doctor had pronounced him unbroken, but sore, Nick's pride got the better of him. Embarrassment at having been caught in that situation in the first place kept him from acknowledging to Jarrod how much his presence meant to him while he was trapped in that dark mine. He never told his brother he had saved his sanity that night.

For a week after, Nick had even given him the cold shoulder and Jarrod went back to Berkley without so much as a thank you from the brother he'd saved. What Nick wouldn't give to see him right now. He would make sure his older brother understood the depth of his gratitude for that...and the countless times throughout his life that Jarrod had simply been there for him.

Tears stung his eyes, but he couldn't cry. It was just too late.

"Jarrod!" Nick called out and his voice quickly died in the small chamber. His fingers curved around the cold metal band at his wrist. He didn't care about his father's crimes anymore. He just wanted to be home. He wanted to see his big brother again. He squeezed his eyes shut and allowed a pitiful whimper to escape. "You can come get me now." He drew a ragged breath. "I'll be a better brother..." for his father, he added, "I'll be a better son...I promise..." He would promise so many things.


	14. Chapter 14

The Barkley's family trip to San Francisco had gone very well, even though after seeing the cooks in their fancy attire prior to the competition and tasting some of their delicious samples, Audra backed out of the cooking contest. Father had been slightly disappointed, but he kept it well hidden and managed to redirect the focus of the outing to Berkeley and Gene's future in attending the prestigious university.

On Monday, the family including Jarrod, toured the campus. Gene received "official" attention as Jarrod had introduced him to some of the professors there. Gene took an interest in Animal Husbandry and had decided that might be a good area of focus because he would be able to help at the ranch even more. Father could not have been more pleased with this outcome.

Jarrod followed along, not inserting very much opinion and allowed Gene to ask his questions directly to the professors. Although Jarrod paid attention when he needed to, his mind went to other things when no one pressed him-namely his brother Nick. Jarrod's headstrong brother had never taken to tours of Berkeley or academic excursions like that, preferring the hands-on work at the ranch. That was his first love and his last. Jarrod would have welcomed him wholeheartedly at Berkeley when he was enrolled there. He half expected Nick to attend once he got the notion that higher education wasn't a death sentence and wouldn't necessarily keep him from doing the work that he loved. The simple fact was, Nick hadn't been excited at the possibilities of higher education, but that wasn't the reason Jarrod felt so out of sorts.

He worried about Nick. His brother was impulsive and not as settled as he'd like him to be. If Audra were older, Jarrod might throw a bit of concern her way as well. Both of them seemed to lack the capability to make decisions that were in their best interests. Audra wasn't that much easier to steer, but she was a young lady and she wasn't about to be put in charge of the ranch. Nick would be. The ranch was destined to be his one day, and Jarrod hoped Nick would have settled down and matured a bit before that time came.

The fact that he wasn't here with the family, unsettled Jarrod. He wanted to spend quality time with his brother, to make sure some more practical knowledge entered that hard skull before it was too late. Maybe it was already too late. Maybe Nick was Nick and there was nothing Jarrod could do to change that.

This was the focus of Jarrod's thoughts even at a late dinner that night back in San Francisco.

"Mother," said, Audra as she absently picked at the peas and carrots on her plate, "I think I could have at least placed in the contest."

"I know you feel that way dear," Mother replied. "But you made the right decision to wait until you're older."

"I only did that because I was too nervous." Lower lip protruding, she laid down her fork and placed her hands on her lap. "I'm a coward."

Jarrod heard this and responded. "You were prudent. There's a difference. You saw the competition and realized you have a few more things to learn. That's called wisdom, not cowardice."

"Nick won't think so. He'll say I chickened out."

"Yeah," Gene piped in, and then after receiving disapproving looks from both of his parents, he returned to his food.

"Think about it, Audra," Jarrod said. "Would he go and say something so awful to his favorite sister?"

"I'm his only sister," she said, a hint of a smile reappearing.

"I rest my case."

The remainder of dinner was a relatively quiet affair, with everyone tired from the tour and the travel. Once dessert was placed on the table, Father excused himself to have a cigar on the deck by the waterfront. Jarrod joined him.

They rarely had occasion where they could smoke cigars together and talk. Jarrod usually welcomed these moments and felt he could finally speak to his father man to man without the strict propriety of father and son. The fact that he chose not to do so this night, piqued his father's interest.

Father propped his elbows on the railing and watched the water. "Son, something has been bothering you all night. You want to tell me what's going on?"

"Father, you're perceptive, as usual." Jarrod turned and leaned against the railing. The quiet lapping of the water, the soft murmur of conversation punctuated with soft laughter did nothing to ease the tension he'd felt all night. "How are things at home?"

"Fine when we left."

"How's Nick? I haven't seen him in a few months."

"Working hard as usual." Tom took a draw off his cigar and studied Jarrod keenly. "Speak up, son. You know how I like to have all the cards on the table."

"It's ridiculous. I know, but still..." Jarrod didn't want to sound foolish, but the idea that Nick had somehow gotten himself into trouble just would not let him go. "I have this nagging feeling that something is wrong. Since Nick isn't here, I have to assume it's got to do with him."

Tom chuckled. "I admit, I have my own concerns about him. He's impetuous, but that can be an asset in our business. We've only left him for a few days. Surely he can get by that long without us."

Jarrod nodded. "He should be able to. He's hard-working."

"Intelligent," Father said. "Don't forget that."

"Practical?" Jarrod offered hesitantly.

Father nodded. "Fearless."

"Tempestuous."

"Hard-headed."

"Sometimes that boy doesn't know right from wrong..." Jarrod stopped, wondering if he'd, gone too far. Nick had always been Father's favorite, though he tried not to show it. His pride seemed to ebb and flow according to how well Nick was doing in life.

Silence fell between them. Jarrod's sharp intuition when it came to his younger brother was family legend by now. They both knew it. The most famous incident, of course, being the time he rushed home from college based on a hunch something was wrong, only to discover that Nick had been pinned and trapped in a collapsed mine shaft. That once frightening moment had over time become a source of levity and was always brought up and retold at family holidays, much to Nick's chagrin. Jarrod didn't want to insist they rush home or anything this time, but-

Father spoke." You know, if we ride tonight, we can be back at the ranch by morning."

"I'll get a couple of horses," replied Jarrod.

"I'll see to it that Mother and the children are settled at the hotel," Father said as he disposed of his cigar. "We can send for them once we know that everything is all right."

A messenger presented himself at that very moment. "Mr. Barkley, sir? Telegram."

Jarrod tipped the boy as Father consumed the letter. His face went white. "It's from Fred Madden."

Jarrod took the note when Father offered it., After reading it, he looked up, blue eyes wide. "Fifty thousand-This is insane!"

Father didn't respond. He went back to the table and ordered everyone up. "We're going to the hotel."

Victoria grabbed her purse and stood. "What's happening?"

"It seems, Mother," Father began, "That your son has gotten himself into a heap of trouble."


	15. Chapter 15

Heath knew well the darkness inside the mines. As a young boy, he had worked in them as a trapper, opening and closing wooden doors to let air flow through the tunnels. Once, when he was nearly crushed by a loaded coal cart, his momma put an end to his mining career. Years later, he still understood the layout of a mine, still knew the tunnels, but without the shouts of men and the roll of the coal carts, the silent emptiness gave him the sense of crawling deep into a man's grave.

He noticed his lantern's oil supply had dwindled sharply from extended use. He lowered the wick as much as he could to slow the oil consumption and still have enough light to guide him. There was no way in the mines to tell how much daytime had passed outside. In here, time seemed to stand still, but he knew it had been hours since he and Mariano made their plan.

They'd constructed a hasty camp and left the horses by a cool spring not far from the mine. It would be a good place to take Nick once they found him and brought him out. Because Matt's wagon tracks from Strawberry ended only a half mile back, Heath felt certain his brother was in this nearest mine. Mariano agreed. They entered the mine together, but split up when the main tunnel divided, just as Mariano's maps had shown. They were to meet up in the main tunnel when lamp oil was exhausted or if one of them found Nick.

The dank smell of earth filled the atmosphere and the dry air made him thirsty. He swallowed a mouthful of tepid water and recapped the canteen. He carried an extra canteen on his other hip, in case he was the first to find Nick.

After hours in the mine, the loneliness of the shafts worked at him. He thought of Rachel. She had fallen into a shaft and fell forty feet. They found her body weeks later. Her only injury was a broken ankle. She had died simply because she could not find her way out. Heath had not been able to help in that search. He was spared seeing her dead body, but the stories he'd heard gave him nightmares.

Timid of the mines to begin with, Rachel must have been frightened down there alone. Heath imagined he would be frightened as well if he didn't have his mind so focused on finding Nick.

He kept moving, checking every crevass, every turn. Nothing. Moving deeper and deeper the support beams which had been so prevalent at the entrance dwindled to nothing. It seemed as if he'd fallen off the face of the earth and found some other world altogether. A world with no sun. At that thought, the lamp light dimmed. He turned the wick up.

That's when he heard it.

He paused and listened. Didn't hear anything for a long moment.

There it was again. A jangle off in the darkness as if metal worked against metal.

Heath swung the lamp toward the sound. Shadows made the rock walls move and shift like mirrors in a fun house. When he heard the sound again, His heart jumped. "Nick!" Silence answered him, but he was encouraged. He probed deeper into the shaft and found another, roughly hewned corridor off to the side. He prayed the lamp oil would last.

The passageway was barely wider and taller than he was and in some places as he explored, seemed to narrow even further. When he found himself abruptly at the end-a dirt wall-he turned and cast the light back where he came from. He saw a long tunnel that seemed to continue on forever. Up ahead and to the left, there was a possibility, a black opening hidden from him on the way in had revealed itself. He scrambled toward it and pushed the lamp inside the hole.

There.

Heath had to blink to be sure.

It was! "Nick!"

He squeezed inside. How they managed to get Nick through that opening, he didn't know. He didn't want to think Matt capable of doing anything so bad as to imprison a man like this.

As small as it was, the room was like a coffin. Nick was curled up against the wall. Unconscious? He didn't move or show any indication he knew Heath was there. Heath set the lamp beside him and saw the shackle that bound his wrist. He tapped Nick's cheek. "Nick. You awake?"

Nick groaned a little and lifted his head. One eye glinted through the shock of dark hair that fell across his forehead.

"Jarrod?" Nick rasped in a papery voice. "I knew you'd come."

"No. It's me Heath."

"Heath?" Nick said, seemingly trying to make a connection to the name.

"I got some water for you," he freed his partially filled canteen and uncapped it, realizing that a little water at a time might be best. "Drink it slow, now. You don't want to spill any." He held it out to Nick who came to life and snatched it from his hand.

"They gotcha in here good, don't they?" Heath muttered.

Nick made loud, greedy gulps.

"I said drink it slow."

Nick took a long swallow and rasped. "Tell that...to a dying man, will you?" He put the canteen back to his lips.

"I gotta get you outa this." Heath looked around the chamber and saw nothing but rock and then he remembered the Colt strapped to his thigh. He drew it from the holster. "This could do it."

Heath had never fired this gun. Certainly, he never fired one in a mine shaft. He put the muzzle against the chain and pulled down the hammer. He squeezed his eyes shut.

The canteen clattered to the floor. Nick put up his hand and ducked his head. "Don't do tha-"

The explosion made Heath stumble backward and hit the floor hard. Blinking, he saw that Nick was coughing and had clutched the arm that was now free.

"You all right, Nick?" Heath asked and barely heard his own voice. The explosion had deafened him.

He crouched beside Nick and found the dark gash on the right side of his head. The wound didn't appear to be bleeding, but it was a pretty deep laceration on his scalp. Somebody had clobbered him pretty good. "Think you can move?" he asked.

Nick shook his head groggily.

The lamp light grew dimmer still. "We have to go. We'll be out of lamplight soon."

He motioned for Nick to follow and tried tugging him to a sitting position, but Nick was a rag doll. Unresponsive. Heath turned Nick's face and saw that he'd fainted. Of all the luck. He found him, how would he get him out?

"Nick!" He said as if Nick could understand him. "I'm going to get Mariano. I'll be back. Y'hear?"

With a groan of frustration, he snatched up the lantern and left the little chamber. He hated leaving Nick alone again, so he moved as fast as he could down the long corridor. "Mariano!" he called out. "Mariano!"

When Heath got to the end of the tunnel, he found Mariano rushing toward him. "I heard an explosion! What happened?"

"I found him!" Heath exclaimed. "I found Nick!"


	16. Chapter 16

Now inside the small chamber with them, Mariano looked Nick over carefully before trying to rouse him. He noted the gash on the side of his head. "Bastards," he muttered. "Wake up, Nick." He shook him, but not too roughly. "You have to help us get you out. We can't very well drag you through that tunnel."

Nick moaned and swam back to consciousness. His eyes seemed out of focus.

"Come on," Mariano urged, encouraged by Nick's efforts. "You can do it."

"You bet," said Nick. He made an effort to rise, but his eyes rolled back and he slumped.

Mariano lifted Nick's chin. "Nick!" No response. "That's that. We won't be getting any help from him."

"Will he be all right?" Heath asked. He'd never seen someone in such a state, and it worried him.

"This hard-headed mule?" Mariano replied. "He'll be fine."

"We're not too late."

"I don't think so. I'm a little concerned about us though. We'll have to carry him out, and it won't be easy," Mariano said to Heath. "Are you up for it?"

"Yeah," replied Heath, but he hadn't known just how taxing that would be.

* * *

By the time they scrambled out of the mine, they were well into the night. A three of them tumbled to the ground, spent. Heath lay on his back and looked up at the starry sky. It seemed a reward to see the Lord's creation so majestic and expansive, especially after finding Nick. He didn't even mind lying on the warm rocky ground. Made him feel alive. He let out a breath.

"If you ever see me near another mine...shoot me," Nick's weary voice broke the silence. "Oh yeah..." He plopped a clumsy hand on Heath's head and mussed his sandy hair. "Little marksman here already tried."

"See, Heath?" Mariano chuckled. "The hard work is over and now he decides to join us."

Heath smiled at the teasing and closed his eyes. He was so exhausted, he could sleep right here at the mouth of the mine with two fellows he might consider his brothers, and he wouldn't mind it at all.

But Mariano was the first to bring them out of the rest break. He propped himself on an elbow. "We have to get you back to camp, Nick. Think you can ride a short distance?"

"No."

"Maybe you'll be able to soon. We can't carry you all the way to camp. One of us has to go back for the horses."

"I'll do it," Heath said. He was already on his feet. "I can be back before the hour."

Mariano agreed and sent the boy off. He glanced back at Nick, only to discover he was dead to the world again. He pressed his fingers to Nick's throat, felt his pulse, and decided it was strong. His friend was just hurt, hungry, and exhausted so he passed out. After his ordeal, who could blame him?

Mariano sat up, reached into his shirt pocket, and withdrew a rolled cigarette. He lifted the lantern and lit it by the faltering flame. Drawing in the sweet tobacco flavor, he relaxed a bit in contemplation. His move to Mexico would exclude him from this latest development in the Barkley saga. He wanted to see what would become of Heath and Nick, but he would be far away. He would miss it all. "If someone could only write a book about you and Heath," he mused aloud. "How do you think it would end?"

He didn't expect an answer, but he got one.

"With me killing you for meddling in my business."

A quiet moment passed.

"Mariano?" Nick said.

"What?"

"Thanks for meddling in my business."

"Your welcome." Mariano smiled. "It's good to have you back, my friend."

* * *

As they rode to camp Mariano held Nick upright the whole way. When they finally got there, he struggled to keep the weakened Nick in the saddle. Mariano called to Heath. "Help me get him down."

"I can do it myself," Nick slurred. "I can."

"Later maybe." Nick's health seemed in decline since they'd gotten him out of the mine an hour ago which worried the devil out of Mariano. He hoped food and rest would cure this downward trend.

"You can't even walk, Nick," Heath said as he dismounted. "You're sittin' up there in that saddle no better'n a sack of potatoes."

"What do you know?" Nick retorted. "Wanna see a sack of potatoes take a swing at ya?"

"All right, easy does it," Mariano said as he pulled Nick and let him slide out of the saddle into his arms. "Heath, get his foot out of that stirrup."

Heath hurried to the other side of Mariano's horse and freed the caught foot.

"Much obliged," Nick muttered.

Nick supported little of his own weight. Mariano draped Nick's arm over his shoulder to hold him up and encouraged him as they walked. Nick's feet stumbled over the gravel. "Step, that's it. Lift your feet a little higher."

"I can do it. Just, get these boulders out of my way."

Heath rushed up to Mariano's side. "Is his head all right? He seems off. "

"He's a little off, but he's still stubborn, so this is good." Mariano replied. "I think if he drinks enough water and gets some food, he'll be fine."

They got him over to the camp next to the stream and eased him onto a bedroll.

"Stay here, Nick." Mariano said.

Nick groaned. "Thanks. You're a true friend." He patted Mariano's shoulder. "A true friend."

Mariano handed him a canteen and then took a small flask of whiskey from a saddlebag and withdrew some rolled cloth.

"Even better," Nick said when he spied the whiskey.

"You can take one drink, but the rest is to clean the wound. It looks pretty nasty right now. Hopefully it'll present a better appearance in the morning."

"I can imagine what it looks like." Nick said. "It looks like how I feel...it looks like a son of a bitch, doesn't it? That's what it looks like."

"You'll be all right," offered Heath.

Nick shot him a glance. "No I won't, Heath. Not by a long shot."

"Sure ya will."

"No, my whole life changed. All on account of a dirty lie-"

This remark insensed Heath. "So I'm a dirty lie, Nick?" He shot back. "Is that what you think?"

"Boys-" Mariano said.

"That's not what I meant!" Nick said. "Let me finish-"

"I suppose it was a lie who found you in that mine shaft and gave you the first drink of water you had in nearly two days," Heath said, pent up rage giving his voice a sharp edge. "And it was a lie who broke that chain that kept you locked up like a dog." Heath got up and began to unfasten the gun belt he'd worn since leaving Strawberry.

"I wouldn't even be in this situation if it weren't for you." Nick muttered.

"Shut up, Nick!" Mariano cut in.

"Shut up?" Nick growled. "Why should I?"

"Because you're making an ass of yourself." Mariano shot a cold look to Heath. "You too. Let's give this some time, huh?"

"Time," Nick said. "Seems to be all I have left."

"Here's your gun, Nick." Heath laid the belt on the ground beside him. "I didn't mean to borrow it to save your sorry hide." Heath moved off. "I'll go get some fuel for the fire."

Once Heath was out of earshot, Mariano spoke up. "As much as it pains you to hear it, you owe that boy. If it weren't for him, you might still be in that mine."

"I know."

"Then why lay the guilt on him?"

"I wish I could tell you."

* * *

As night transitioned to morning, Nick felt much more lucid and his strength was coming back. He sat by the cooking fire where a sage hen slowly roasted on a spit and watched Heath tend to Horse. The boy looked like Father in many ways. He walked like him. He even had that same look in his eye. Last night, Nick nearly withered under Heath's cool, calculating glare, because they were Father's eyes reprimanding him for his lack of compassion. His weakness was in his pride, but what is a man without it?

"This will hurt," Mariano said.

Nick let out a gasp when Mariano tried again to clean the wound over his ear.

He jerked away and scowled. "I'll live without the nursing."

Mariano tossed the bloody cloth aside. "You might," his friend agreed. "But the cut looks bad. We ought to get you back home."

"Home?" was Nick's derisive reply. "No. I'm not going back yet. I don't know how I'll face my father with all this." He jutted his thumb to Heath. "So what do I do about his kid, huh? I still can't believe it."

"You're the one who came here to find him. What did you think you were going to do about him?"

"He wasn't supposed to be here, Mariano!" Nick scrubbed a hand over his face. "My Father!"

"Is still your father," Mariano stated. "He's still the man he was before. You just know more about him now."

Nick glared at him. "That's a lot of comfort! My father was a-a low down-" He couldn't say it, never-to anyone. He looked away in shame.

"I wish I didn't know the truth either, Nick, but it doesn't change who Tom Barkley is. He made a mistake that-"

Nick interrupted. "A mistake that walks and talks and has the right to call Tom Barkley his father. That changes who he is and don't try to convince me otherwise!" Nick's headache spiked and he gently put his fingers to the wound.

"All right," conceded Mariano. "Only you can be the judge of that, but I'll just say one more thing and I'll drop the matter." He nodded at Heath. "That boy over there may not be what you wanted, but I've spent time with him. He's a good kid, and he was desperate to find you."

Mariano got up and walked toward Heath, a big smile on his face. It was easy for Mariano to accept this. It wasn't his father who'd- hell! He couldn't even admit it to himself! He probed the cut over his ear. It was hot to the touch and swollen. His fingers came back sticky. He growled in frustration. Nothing was going right, if right were at all a possible outcome. The heavy metal shackle around his wrist was a constant irritant. It jangled when he moved. and served as a reminder of the payback he owed Bill Tennant. In a way, he was still trapped. He felt it. Trapped by the way he treated Heath and his own stubborn unwillingness to change how he felt about his father. He had to take back some control.

"Heath!" he shouted. Over by the horses, both Heath and Mariano shot him a look. "Come here!"

Even from this distance, he saw the boy's shoulders slump ever so slightly. Mariano slapped his shoulder encouragingly and Heath came toward him. How to handle this? Nick wasn't so good at thinking on the fly and he hadn't exactly thought it out this far. Heath was just a kid and judging from his own interactions with him, the boy seemed to deserve fair treatment. Because he was the result of Father's bad decision, didn't make him a bad kid. That was a place to start.

Heath stood and looked down at him, hands in his pockets, his expression blank. This frustrated Nick even more that this boy could hide his emotions so well. Surely he was just as angry and confused as Nick, maybe even more so. "Sit down why don't you?" Nick grumbled. "Sun's in my eyes."

Heath shrugged. "You bein' in the dark so long, I figure you'd welcome the change."9

"How 'bout we put you in that mine shaft for a couple of days? See how you feel about it."

Heath sighed and seemed to take his point. He sat beside Nick, facing the same direction, avoiding his gaze.

They sat in silence for a while, each in his own thoughts. Each staring at the water, the ground, the fire, anywhere but at each other. "Look," Nick started. "I didn't mean to treat you the way I did-"

"You don't need to explain nothin'," Heath said. "Ya came lookin' for me, ya found me. It's plain as day how you feel about me, and if I were you, I might feel the same. Only I'm not you and I got a different way a lookin' at this."

Nick's brows lowered. "I suppose you do."

"You don't know nothin' about me," Heath stated. "All you can think about is how my bein' here affects you. You have a daddy, Nick. You should be thankful that he cared enough about you to stick around. Mine didn't."

"You're talking about my father, Heath," Nick said. "Last I saw him, you were just an accusation made up by Bill Tennant."

"That was a nasty lie, wasn't it?" Heath said. "Made up by a no good, dirty liar."

"Damned right it was." Nick was amused. "Only it turned out to be the truth."

"Yeah."

Silence again.

"What do you say we start over?" Nick proposed. The words he said were the complete opposite of his current feelings, but he had to begin somewhere. "I liked you when I met you at the bridge. You've got guts. I respect that."

Heath grunted in acknowledgment.

"I don't see any reason to treat you any different now," Nick said. "Let's just decide to get along and see what happens."

Heath shrugged and then turned to him with that Father look again. "I suppose I can. For now. But what about when you go home?"

"I don't intend to go home yet." Nick said. "I've still got things to do."

"Like what?"

"Bill Tennant and I hate to say it, Matt Simms need their reckoning. I intend to deliver it."

"How?" Heath said, finally looking at him. He blew it off. "You can't even ride unless Bell takes it easy on you."

"Horse."

"Whatever."

"You don't know me then Heath." Nick replied unphased. "If you don't know by now what a tenacious rascal I can be."

Heath narrowed his eyes on his brother for a moment and then turned his attention to the roasting hen. "It's done." He pulled the stick from the fire. He touched the meat and jerked back his fingers, blowing on them. "Tell you what. I think we need to spend some time getting to know each other. I can't think of a better way to do it than going after Bill and Matt."

"But Matt's your uncle, Heath. I couldn't ask you to-"

"I got no family. That's it. I make my own decisions."

Mariano walked up. "Did the two of you settle on a truce?"

"In a manner of speakin'," Heath replied.

"We're going after Tennant and Simms," said Nick. "I have an idea where they might be."


	17. Chapter 17

The boys split the roasted hen between the three of them. The portions were on the small side, but juicy for a game bird nonetheless. Mariano shot it at early dawn. Topped off with black coffee, it made for a pretty good trail breakfast. Heath shared the rolls Martha packed, though only after some prodding from Nick and Mariano. "They can be that bad," Heath assured them. Neither man complained about them, probably out of politeness.

Heath finished his ration pretty fast. He'd not had a lot to eat in the past couple of days and was still feeling kinda empty when he noticed that Nick had hardly taken a bite out of his hen. Heath's stomach growled for it, but he wouldn't dare touch it. Nick needed to eat more than anybody, but he'd set it aside.

Nick saw Heath looking at him and waved a hand. "I ate as much as I could."

Heath and Mariano exchanged glances. It was clear what they both were thinking. Nick wasn't up for chasing after any bandits. Not now. Heath had a mind to say as much but he caught a cold look in Mariano's eyes. It was dark and introspective. A little on the dangerous side. His jaw was set and he poked at the fire with a stick as if to bring the fire back to blaze, but the gesture was only to keep him busy. He was worried for Nick. That had to be it. His mood cast a shadow over what a moment ago was a somewhat pleasant morning, considering.

The fire had died down and was now just a single blue and yellow flicker among the embers. Heath tossed the bones into it.

"You can have mine if you want," said Nick. His portion of meat lay on a small tin barely touched. "I couldn't stomach it."

Heath shook his head. "You ought to try to eat it."

"I did. It's too rich. Just not ready for it." He propped his arms on top of his knees. His hand started to go up to the cut over his ear, but he thought better of it and sighed. "I ate a roll. That ought to do for now."

"Sure," said Heath. "It was one of Martha's rolls. I wonder how your stomach could stomach that."

"It's in my stomach. That's what counts."

Granted, Nick was pale, but he'd been in total darkness for a long time, maybe he'd get more coloring as the day progressed. His once white shirt should be tossed though. The blood stain around the collar, the grime, and a tear or two at the seams made him look as if he'd been chewed by a wild animal. Heath brought Nick's maroon shirt from the hotel and silently chastised himself for forgetting it. "Say, I'll get your other shirt. It's in Bell's saddlebag."

"Thanks, Heath. Good idea," Nick said as Heath moved to the supplies opposite them. "My horse's name is Horse, by the way. Horse! Remember that."

"Whatever you say, Nick."

Heath pushed up the leather flap and dug through the saddle bag. When he pulled out the shirt, another object came with it and clattered to the ground. A knife with a blade as long as Heath's forearm lay at his feet. He whistled appreciation. "Some knife you got here," he said. He grabbed the ridged stag handle. The weight balanced easily in his hand. Good heft to it.

"Don't go lopping of your ear with that," Nick groused.

"Where'd you get it?"

"Won it in a fight."

The tone in Nick's voice tamped Heath's excitement a few notches. He found the sheath and put the knife back into the bag.

"Are you sure you're up for this plan, Nick?" came Mariano's quiet voice. "Are you going to faint just riding to this ranch house you told us about?"

Nick turned an agitated look to his friend and ignored his question altogether. "I wish I could have seen that ransom note. Where did they say they wanted the money dropped off?"

"They didn't say where. They said 'wait' for instructions." Mariano said. "They didn't seem to have a plan."

"Obviously. Tennant just wanted me dead, pure and simple. I'd give anything to know why. I never crossed him in any way...other than to tell him the kind of work that needed to be done."

Heath tramped up and tossed the maroon shirt to Nick.

Nick caught it and started to unbutton his torn shirt. "Heath, you know this ranch house, right? You said you've been there?"

"I've been there. The mining companies used it for lots of meetings and stuff. I used to run errands for them. I know it pretty well. From what you heard Matt say, a barn, a stone ranch house...and Martha only outfitted Bell for a day's ride tops. She must a been going to meet them there. It fits...that must be where they decided to hole up."

"Think you can get us there?" Nick said as he tossed the white shirt aside.

"Sure."

Nick glanced at Mariano. "It won't hurt to poke around up there a bit. We don't have to confront 'em unless we need to. From what you say, the sheriff might not get here soon. Didn't you say Madden was in Modesto or some such?"

"He could be here any time."

Nick sighed. "He has to find us in this wasteland. That would take a while."

"We could go back toward home and find him easy enough."

"And in that time, Tennant and Simms would be gone!" Nick stated. "That cannot happen. I'm going to wash up." He got up and walked stiffly to the stream. His steps careful and planned. Obviously to impress on his companions he could push on.

"He's determined," Mariano said.

"I'll say," replied Heath. "How do you think he's doing?"

Mariano thought about it for a moment. "He should rest. He should go home, but...I think he'll be good enough to go on with me."

Heath narrowed his eyes on him. "Why do you want to go so bad? Aint it enough that we found Nick and got him out of that mine?"

"No." Mariano admitted frankly. "Any man who tries to kill my closest friend-my brother-will not get away with it. Nick would do the same for me."

Mariano's loyalties were clear. It seemed that Nick and he both held honor in high esteem. They would do anything to defend it, even if the cost was maybe too high. Heath didn't know exactly what he wanted from Nick-this new brother he stumbled across. A relationship? Did he really expect to gain a true brother from this? Did he think he would be going to live with him in a big ranch house with "Father" Tom and a mess of siblings? Jealousy grew inside him. He couldn't help but think that by some disgusting twist of fate that he had been born into a state of perpetual disadvantage. He'd never be a real brother to Nick. He might as well throw that idea away.

...but when he thought about the many times Matt, the one relative in this situation that he knew very well, had turned his mother away when she needed him and the many times he had punished Heath for the slightest offense...If he thought on those things, then yes, his loyalties were just as clear. Only he would be avenging someone else. His mother.

"I understand," he said.

* * *

While Nick and Mariano finalized the plans, Heath was put in charge of untying the horses. Only last night in his haste to get the horses taken care of, he chose to tie a quick knot instead of a good one. He'd tied a square knot and the subsequent morning dew had evaporated in the sun's heat and caused the rope to shrink, which had made it impossible to loosen. Admitting this to anyone would be an unnecessary humiliation. Rather than mention it, he pulled out his old pocket knife. It wasn't shiny, but he kept it sharp. He looked back toward the camp at Mariano and Nick to make sure they weren't watching and discretely cut the line from the tree and sliced off the detestable knot. Still watching his companions, he quickly slipped the severed knot into his pocket to hide the evidence, and now relaxing, he began to whistle and roll up the remaining cord.

"Heath!"

The shout made him jump. He slowly turned. "Yeah, Nick?"

"When you're done with that, could you help me out over here?"

"Sure."

Heath glanced to Mariano was now taking dirty dishes to the steam for a rinse and Nick remained by the dying fire packing their supplies. Heath quickly folded the knife and slipped it up his sleeve. He walked toward camp.

Nick, looking a lot better after washing up and putting on a cleaner shirt, shot him a mildly-impressed look. "You got that knot, huh? Mariano said it was impossible."

"It was easy." Heath shrugged. "Whatcha need me to help you with?"

Nick indicated the bed rolls in front of him. "Help me with these, will ya?" Nick said. "My head aches like you wouldn't believe. It's slowing me down."

Heath crouched and picked up one end and started to roll it up. "Maybe you ought to go home," he suggested. "Maybe it's a sign that something more is wrong with you."

"It's just a headache. Yours would be aching too if someone pistol-whipped you. Twice," Nick said. "Hey, roll that tighter, will ya?"

Heath sighed and started over, making the roll as tight as he could. "Once, when I was little, I fell out of a tree and landed on my head. I was seein' double and everything. I had to stay in bed for a week. Doc said I was lucky I didn't bust my head clean open like a watermelon."

Nick laughed, but only once, and winced. The headache apparently reasserted itself. His smile slipped away. "Yeah. You may be right, but if we let Matt and Bill go, we may never catch them."

"You're alive. That counts for something, don't it?"

Nick gave him a good hard look. "You're right again, Heath, but let me tell you how it is. This is more than just getting them back for what they did to me. Sure I survived the mine thanks to you, but...your uncle Matt-don't give me that 'he aint my uncle because I say so' line-your uncle Matt knew all along that you were my father's son, right? He sat on that information for God knows how long, even after your mother died. He manipulated you and used you to entrap me. I wasn't so smart to fall into that trap, but he's not so smart either. He thinks he's getting money. He's not getting money, Heath. My father would never pay a ransom, especially one that was so outrageously high. Bill Tennant knows that. He tried to kill me. He left me in that mine to die. He wanted my father to suffer. He's after our father, Heath. I don't know if that strikes a chord with you, but I can't let it go. Hell, I can't even decide for myself how I feel about him anymore. I can't respect him like I used to, but I still love him. That'll never change. Even if he was a-a bastard for leaving you, I'd lay down my life for him in a second."

Heath began to understand the loss of having never known Tom Barkley. Jealousy burned deep inside him, but he suppressed the feeling. It wouldn't do to get all upset over someone he knew next to nothing about, but seeing the light in Nick's eyes when he spoke of his father and hearing the fire in his voice made the pain of Heath's complete abandonment all the more acute. He would never know the comfort of having such a father in his life-one who inspired this kind of fervent loyalty. He looked away before his emotions got the better of him. He let the pocket knife slip from his sleeve and he dug at the dirt, whittling a small pebble from the damp earth.

He sighed and turned back to Nick who was still looking at him. "l felt the same way about my momma. I was never able to protect her like I wanted to. She was always there for me, more than any father would have been. She had to be everything. When I was little, she fought for me; she had to fight hard. Folks around Strawberry never forgave her for havin' me."

It was Nick's turn to look away. Heath knew by the thin line of Nick's mouth and the curve of his shoulders that he took his father's past transgressions to heart. He brought his gaze back to Heath. "I didn't know."

"You couldn't know. She's gone. Fever took her. Nothing I can do about that." Heath let out a breath. "Don't it beat all that you are the only family I got left in this world that I have any respect for? And we only just met!"

Nick smiled a little at that.

"I want to help you find 'em and bring 'em to justice. I'm tired of lies too," Heath looked down at the ground again. "Only, I don't want to help you die."

The sat in silence for a long moment.

"Well," Nick said. He cleared his throat. "I don't intend to die. Mariano was right when he said I'm hard headed."

"Yeah, but I don't think he was talking about your head. He meant you're stubborn. The more we talk, the more I see it."

Nick opened his mouth, but closed it again. He gave a grudging nod. "True."

Heath returned to the bed rolls and thought for a moment what to do with his pocket knife. Dirt was in the casing and along the blade. He wanted to clean it before putting it away, but once he was finished helping Nick. Eying a sapling nearby for a second, he flicked his wrist and the knife somersaulted into a knothole on the side of the tree.

Nick caught the maneuver and squinted a the skinny, scrap of a tree a good twenty feet away with the pocket knife that jutted out like an extra limb. He shot Heath a new look as if he'd never seen him before. "That's some throwing. Did you mean to hit that?"

"'Course I did." Heath grinned looking a little smug. "I'll do it again."

"Go ahead."

Nick sat and watched. Heath sauntered up to the tree and yanked his knife out. He walked back to Nick.

"Want me to stand or crouch down like I was before?" Heath said. "I can turn my back to it...throw it over my shoulder-"

"Just-try to hit the target." Nick replied wanly, a little annoyed at himself for causing this moment for Heath to show off. "I don't care how you do it."

Heath turned his back to the tree. Nick rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. Heath relaxed his shoulders. In a split second he had spun around and released the knife again. It somersaulted and stuck the hole dead center.

Nick was admittedly impressed. "Not bad."

"Not bad?" Heath said. "That's good knife throwin'."

"How'd you learn to do that?"

He shrugged a shoulder. "I guess when you aint allowed to shoot a gun, you improvise. I killed a few rabbits that way. Running ones, too."

They returned to tying up the bed rolls. "Y'know, Heath? I can teach you how to handle a gun. With an eye like yours, it's a crime not to give you a gun."

"You can? I mean you want me to shoot with you?"

"Sure." Nick's smile faded as he thought about consequences. There was no way to predict how their relationship would pan out once the truth was revealed to the family. But Nick could come to Strawberry anytime and visit with Heath at least. If Father didn't own up and support this boy Nick would have to find a way... He tied the bedroll and sat back on his heels. "Heath, you're a good kid. I try to look for your faults, but I haven't found much to dislike about you."

"That's good. I guess."

"What I'm trying to say is..." He didn't know what to say. You're a good kid, but you can't be a real brother like Gene or Jarrod? Why not? "It's complicated."

Heath stood, dusted the dirt from his pants. The emotionless mask fell across his face. "Like I said before. I don't need a family." He stalked to the tree and yanked his knife from it and walked away.

Heath never said he didn't need a family. It was too much. Nick wished he could punch himself square in the jaw for leading them up to this moment. He punched the bedroll instead and grabbed it up. As he walked toward Bel-Horse! He knew he was screwing things up in a big way. His very presence made that boy's life miserable. He ought to just keep his damned mouth shut-"Heath!" he bellowed.

Heath didn't come back. He didn't turn around. He just crouched by the stream, tossed stones into the water.

What would he say to him anyway? Time had to pass. They had to each travel their part of the journey. Maybe they would eventually find connections, but right now this was the damn worst situation Nick could think of and it wasn't going to get better. Not for a long time.

* * *

Horses saddled, supplies packed, Mariano approached Nick, more than a little concern etched on his face. "Are you ready?"

The question hung in the air. Mariano was asking about his physical readiness. Nick wasn't so sure about that either, but he saw no other course than to follow through and see this thing out. The metal cuff still on his wrist was a constant reminder of what Bill Tennant had done. And what Matt Simms had done. "I'm ready."

And just to prove it to himself and to his friend, he placed a foot in the stirrup, gathered his strength and mounted Horse in a flowing movement.

Mariano seemed to relax a little. "Just take care of yourself. I'll let Heath ride with me."

The day was getting warmer. Nick's head still ached with every turn. He needed a good hat. He needed more time. "Let's go."


	18. Chapter 18

Jarrod and Tom arrived at the ranch a few hours before dawn. Worn out from the long ride, the horses were spent and so were their riders. The two men unsaddled the horses and let them into a small corral to rest. The men trudged toward the darkened house exhausted. As they approached, a dim light flickered inside and moved closer to the front windows.

"Silas," Tom said as if to answer an unasked question.

The front door came open and it was indeed Silas, back from his visit with relatives. He wore night clothes and looked a mixture of relief and concern. He must have been beside himself with the waiting. "I thought I heard somebody. Good evening, Mr. Barkley. Mr. Jarrod."

"Evening, Silas," said Tom.

"Silas," said Jarrod in greeting.

They entered the house and began to remove their coats. Silas put the lamp on a table and took Tom's coat and then Jarrod's. As the two arrivals stepped into the parlor, Silas hung the coats.

Tom turned abruptly and demanded, "Do you have any idea where that boy disappeared to? Was he seen with anybody?"

Silas paused looking bewildered. "I only arrived yesterday, Mr. Barkley. The men say he left Sunday morning. They say he went up to the Montoya place, but..."

"That was a lie," Tom growled. He balled his fists wishing to blazes he had somebody to fight. So many questions preyed on his mind. He wanted someone to give him answers. Jarrod watched him carefully. He positioned himself near Silas, ready to step in front of the man if need be. Tom noted the cautious readiness in his eldest son and realized he must look a mad man. With the hard pace they kept in order to get home, coupled with excessive worry over his second son, he was ready to snap. Logically, he knew no one from this house held any blame for Nick's predicament, except possibly Nick himself.

"I'm sorry, Silas," he said gruffly. He took a calming breath. "I realize you have nothing to do with this. It's been a long, hard night. I'm just not myself. Let's go to the kitchen and brew some coffee. We have a lot to discuss."

Jarrod's relief was clear. His face relaxed and he placed a reassuring hand on Silas's shoulder as they walked to the kitchen.

* * *

After the coffee was brewed and poured, the three men sat at the kitchen table, each with a hot mug of coffee in front of him, but none actually partaking.

"So Mariano found the ransom note here, on the veranda?" Tom asked.

"Yes sir," replied Silas.

"What happened to the note?"

"The sheriff kept it. It's in his office under lock and key. It was evidence, he said."

"You say he was here yesterday."

Silas nodded. "Yesterday evenin'. He said he had only just gotten word from Mr. Montoya about the ransom note because he had just got back from Modesto. He said he knows about the trouble between Nick and Bill Tennant even before this happened. He wanted me to tell you that he has gone on to Strawberry to look for Nick there." Silas shook his head sadly. "I've never seen such trouble." He pulled an envelope from the pocket of his robe. "Sheriff Madden knew you would come home immediately from San Francisco." He pushed the envelope across the table. "Mariano left this with him. The sheriff asked that I give it to you."

Tom took the letter, and held it in his hands. Strawberry. Why had Nick gone to that town? That place was in the past. He'd made sure years ago to close all ties with it...so he wouldn't think of her. Her soft laughter came to him just then from some deep memory he had closed off for so long. He pushed back from the table and stood. He went to the lamp next to the stove and read the note.

* * *

Jarrod waited for news from that letter. He watched his father for any sign that he would share this new information. But when Father finished the letter, he folded the paper and stood in silence with his head bowed.

"What is it, Father?" Jarrod asked, fear gripped him. He wanted to spring out of his chair and snatch the letter from his father's hands, but he forced himself to remain calm. "Why did Nick go to Strawberry? Is he all right?"

"I don't know." The big man opened his vest and tucked the letter in the inside pocket. He turned to his son, his face ashen. The news had obviously disturbed him. "Bill Tennant's lies led him there."

"What lies?" Jarrod wanted to shout. "What's in that letter?"

"About my business dealings in Strawberry from years ago," Father said quietly. "Nick was...he went there to prove my innocence."

"Is that all?" Jarrod said, relieved with at least one point. His father was innocent of any bad business dealings. He was well known for his straight forward and honest approach and this was the main reason the ranch had done so well over the years. "Of all the-Nick should have waited until you got back from San Francisco and talked to you first," Jarrod said. "Of all the impulsive, hotheaded-what could a cowardly man like Tennant possibly say against you?"

"Our only concern right now, is to find Nick," Father said, deftly avoiding the question. "We will deal with other issues at a later time."

"Father, tell me. Whatever it is I'm certain it's-"

"No!" Father thundered.

Duly silenced, Jarrod could only stare at his father as he paced, scrubbing a hand over his beard. The man was beside himself, seemed almost bewildered. His mood was so uncharacteristic that for the first time in his life, Jarrod suspected his father might be guilty of something. But what?

"We're going to focus on finding Nick," Father said. "That is what we must do."

Anything would be better than sitting here. Anything to get them moving and off of possible or even imaginary wrong doing. "Then let's get fresh horses. We should ride to Strawberry tonight." Jarrod's expression hardened. "I'll ring Bill Tennant's neck when I meet up with him!"

Father's darkened eyes flashed to Jarrod. "I won't risk another son. We've ridden too long tonight. If we leave now we will make mistakes and that won't help your brother. We'll leave just before dawn, that'll give us a few hours of much needed rest."

"But-"

"I've made my decision."

"Fine," Jarrod said quietly. He wrapped his hands around the warm coffee mug to feel something other than the coldness he felt inside.

Father still hadn't rejoined them at the table. He had positioned himself as far away as he possibly could. He leaned against the counter with his hands pressed to his sides on the counter top. He did not look at them. Jarrod was certain his father's mind had gone back to the contents of the letter.

"That letter is significant." Jarrod regarded Silas who sat stock still, looking nearly as guilty as his father and not daring to say a word. "Even you seem to have an idea of its contents, Silas." He turned again to his father. "Is it too much for me to know?"

"Now is not the right time," Father replied harshly.

"Will there be a right time?" Jarrod asked. "You haven't been to Strawberry in years. What could you have possibly done over a decade ago that could affect you so much tonight and make Nick run off when he shouldn't?"

"Do not push me, Jarrod."

The words were cold. It was a threat. Jarrod knew the implications. He got up from the table and his mouth pressed into a thin line. He stared at his father for a long moment, but he soon managed a breath, and his voice sounded shaky and insecure. He ventured on uncertain ground. "You're deliberately keeping important information from me." He glanced at an uncomfortable Silas and felt pity for him having to hear this, but there was no helping it. "Everyone seems to know what the truth is but me. Nick, Mariano, even Sheriff Madden, for God's sake! It's clear that you don't intend to tell me." Jarrod's heart raced. He'd never challenged his father before. It frightened him to do so now, but he felt compelled. "Haven't I always been a loyal son-?" He broke off there, afraid he would break down, or burst into tears or do something else not worthy of a Barkley. The damage was done-he could see by the defeated look in his father's face-to both of them. Jarrod abruptly shoved the chair to the table and left the room.

* * *

Later, in his bedroom, Jarrod tried to do as his father ordered, get some rest, but he could not turn off the workings in his mind. Unable to sleep, he sank exhausted into the plush French wood settee with his back to the armrest so he could gaze into the darkened landscape through his bedroom window. A cool breeze wandered in from the night and the chirp of crickets like so many twinkling stars told him more about the vastness of their property than daylight could.

The feeling that compelled him to come home and to bring his father with him had shifted. He didn't feel such a pressing need to save Nick anymore. Whether it was the fact that Mariano and Fred Madden had gone on ahead to find his brother, or perhaps it was that something had changed. This somewhat preternatural connection he held for Nick...Was it as Mother had told him long ago, that it was God's gift? It seemed more of a curse than anything else. Was Nick such a wild card that God had to provide him with an older brother who was compelled to watch over him? Whatever it was, he didn't like it.

It wasn't fair. Nick wasn't connected to Jarrod in this way. Jarrod could break a leg in a fall out on the range, get shot in a brawl, or a horse could kick him in the head and Nick wouldn't sense a thing. Like that one day Jarrod had ridden up to the house during a torrential thunderstorm. When lightning struck close by, his startled horse pitched him into the mud. Nick had stepped out onto the porch eating a handful of gingersnaps and watched Jarrod pick himself up and take his horse to the barn. He hadn't stepped one foot down to help. Soaked from head to foot, covered in muck, Jarrod limped to the veranda and said, "I could have used some help out there."

Nick just cocked a brow and popped another cookie into his mouth. As he chewed, he eyed the condition of Jarrod's suit and said, "I'd say you pretty much got it covered."

Jarrod chased him into the house.

He smiled at the memory and the sweet retribution he got later that night when he sneaked into Nick's bedroom and placed a small coffee table over his sleeping brother and stepped back to watch.

He shouted at the top of his lungs, "Fire!"

Nick shot up and his head hit the oak tabletop with a resounding crack. Nick writhed and moaned gripping his head between his hands. "Aw! I'll kill you!"

"Ha!" Jarrod exclaimed and jabbed a finger at him. "Looks like I've got YOU covered, Nick!"

Mother rushed in, bleary from sleep.

"To bed!" she snapped and glaring at Jarrod shot a finger in that direction. As he walked by, she demanded, "Is that what you're learning in college?"

The answer, had he given her one, would have been yes, but it was best she only suspect that sort of thing.

The brothers didn't talk to one another for a solid week.

So, Jarrod was always to cover Nick for good or bad.

He had sneaked off to Strawberry for a reason only Nick knew at the time, and Father's mood shifted considerably as he read Mariano's letter. What had been inside that note that Father had refused to speak of?

Jarrod gripped the carved wood along the back of the settee and stared out into the black.

"Damn you, Nick! What did you find?"


	19. Chapter 19

The morning was rife with uncomfortable silence between Jarrod and his father. He even had few words for Silas. He felt a growing sense of betrayal from both of them. Though he understood why Silas would not reveal what he knew of Tom Barkley's secrets, he couldn't stop himself from feeling hurt by his reticence.

Jarrod breakfasted alone in the kitchen. Tasteless bacon, eggs, and coffee. Silas spent most of his time this morning tending to Father's needs. Rushing here and there, doing little things to appease the man. Getting his boots ready, making sure his coffee was topped off, brushing off his coat. Extra care for the man who apparently had a lot to hide and was also a tad frightening this morning. Jarrod had seen him only once before he entered his study. The scowl on his face and the hard coldness in his eyes predicted an even more difficult day ahead than Jarrod had considered possible even last night.

After his last bite of egg, he dropped his fork on his plate and headed out the back way, through the outside kitchen door, rather than through the parlor and risk crossing paths with Father. He would be ready with his horse and waiting outside. Righteous dignity was how he would play this. After all, it seemed that some ghost from Father's past, whatever it was, had caused this problem with Nick. For once Nick was in terrible trouble for something he did not start. He hoped Father felt guilty for that as well.

As he headed toward the stable, the morning was just beginning, dark ribbons of pink edged the horizon. Another day would begin with Nick still missing. Worry had badgered Jarrod since he woke up. He hadn't slept much at all; adrenalin made him not tired but restless. Thoughts of never seeing Nick again tormented him. There were things he wanted to say to him, things he never allowed himself to say before. Pride was always in the way, certainly Nick's, but his own as well. He was starting to see that. They were continually trying to best one another. Since they were now clearly headed toward different paths in life, Jarrod hoped they could put that behind them now, if only they could find Nick and get him home.

He chose to ride Pilgrim, a sturdy light bay, into Strawberry. The animal had strong legs and considerable stamina. Pilgrim was a favorite of his that he had to leave behind when he went to college. He took the animal from the stall. "Easy, boy. Early start huh?" He saddled and readied the horse, just went through the motions without much thought to the process. His mind constantly worked at what his father might possibly have done to cause all this trouble. Mine deals? Land? Old gambling debt? Nothing made sense. Nothing. Those kinds of deals would have been settled years ago.

He had packed last night before retiring, and he now loaded the rifle he had placed here near the stall and slipped it into the holster next to the saddle. He led Pilgrim outside just as Father approached. His dangerous expression had not altered one bit. Jarrod let him pass to the stalls without a word. The air was thick with tension. He'd never born the brunt of Father's fists, and he sure as hell didn't want to find out what that might be like today. He settled his hat on his head and mounted, resolving not to speak unless spoken to. One way or another, he would find out today most likely, what in hell this was all about.

Father came out with a black horse named Midnight. Black suited him. It was an angry horse to everyone but him. Father mounted Midnight and after a short tussle with the animal, he set off. Jarrod followed at a gallop.

* * *

He kept up the pace his father set. Not an all out gallop but one that would get them to Strawberry the quickest without running the horses to ground. He wondered how long it would be before they had to speak. Jarrod was beginning to regret the silence. They needed to work together, at least for Nick's sake.

They slowed when they came to the river that lay between them and Strawberry. It was a branch of the San Joaquin River Delta. Very blue, very rapid and the bridge was out. Father tore off his hat and cursed. "Of all the-" he rode at full gallop toward the men working construction on the bridge. Jarrod did not rush in, but noticed that there was a ferry positioned at the bank of the river. They would get across soon enough.

Father spoke to the men in an even and miraculously friendly tone. A practiced businessman, he had great tact with outsiders. Never showed his true feelings to anyone but family.

"Bridge been out for a while?"

"Heh heh, naw," said the foreman. He hooked his thumbs in his suspenders and squinted up at Father. "Just a few days. Boys was playin' around here, them two, to be precise. Thought it would be high-larious to collapse the bridge on some unfortunate feller." He jerked his head to indicate two sullen boys picking up a beam and carrying it over to the men who were reconstructing the bridge. "A little hard labor won't do 'em no harm." He laughed.

"How much for the ferry then?"

"Just two bits. We don't want to profit too much from this here inconvenience."

"That's fine." He felt his pockets and lifted his head in surprise. "No small change. Jarrod!"

"Father?" Jarrod replied as he rode up.

"I need two bits for the ferry," he said. "Do you have it?"

Jarrod dipped his fingers into his vest pocket and retrieved the coins. He dismounted and handed the coins to the foreman.

The foreman let out a sharp whistle that made Pilgrim start. Jarrod tightened his grip on the reins. "Boys!" the foreman said. "Git over here. Payin' customers and they're in a hurry!"

"Yes, sir!" said one and they sprang to life, dropping the board and sprinting down the bank.

"They been working the ferry and doing a fine job too. They'll get you across."

"Much obliged."

Father and son led their horses to the ferry.

The ferry was big enough for two to three riders and the boys were deft and helping them load up and shoving off. One boy took the back and worked a long pole the other took the front and pulled a rope that stretched across the river. They seemed to enjoy this part of the work.

Father started a conversation with the boy at the front. He was dark headed like Nick and perhaps his waywardness struck a chord with him.

"So you and your friend took out the old bridge?"

"He's my brother, sir, and yessir, we did." He worked up a sweat, but seemed as happy as a lark. "We know we done wrong."

"You two must get into a lot of mischief."

"Yes we do. But aint much else to do in Strawberry but mischief if you know what I mean."

"I do." Father looked around and took in a deep breath. "I used to visit Strawberry myself. It was once a thriving town."

"I never would have known that!"

"No, I suppose not. It was before you were born. Yes indeed, A thriving town."

Jarrod noted the longing in Father's voice.

Once they got to the other bank, they led their horses to dry land, father took the dark-haired boy aside.

"Now, even though you claim to have nothing to do, mischief will get you nothing but trouble, understand?"

"Yessir."

"You have to work hard and take pride in what you do."

"Well, sir, I take pride in my work, but I must say it's been a long day and I sure learned my lesson good."

Prideful and with little remorse for wrongdoing. It was an attitude Nick often took on when confronted with his own misdeeds. Father let out a deep laugh. The boy, happy to have found a receptive audience, laughed too.

Gripping the saddle horn, Jarrod stared at the almost familial scene...and...it was almost a physical sensation...

A door opened...and the inconceivable occurred to him.

If Father had a child in Strawberry...yes...that would satisfy every unanswered question.

Jarrod's knees weakened when the man reached down and scrubbed his hand over the boy's tousled hair. By God! That had to be it! A child. It was something that could take a lifetime to catch up to a man, 'but catch up to him it would. Jarrod bit the inside of his cheek, the taste of blood seeped into his mouth, but he dared not expose the sudden chaotic emotions that raged inside him. He tore off his hat and rested his forehead against the tanned leather of his saddle and closed his eyes tightly, trying to steady his breath. It couldn't be...

"One for you and one for your brother," Father said. "Stay out of trouble, huh?

"Two dollars!" the boy exclaimed. "Thank you sir!"

Jarrod slowly lifted his head and watched the boy skip back to the bank to his brother standing on the ferry. He glanced sullenly at Father and their eyes met. Father held the gaze, giving nothing away. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Jarrod's throat tightened and his voice, once he got hold of it, was menacing. "I have."

There were no other words. What could he say? He mounted as quickly as he could, shoved on his hat, and put as much distance between them as he could. It worked for a minute or two. He brought Pilgrim to a furious pace to match the furious pounding of his heart. But he could not keep it up. He never ran from his problems. Never. He had to face him now, before they got to Strawberry. He had to say it. He reined in and waited for his father. He looked back and saw time shorten like a lit fuse and the moment of truth come barreling toward him at a hard gallop.


	20. Chapter 20

Jarrod wanted the truth out in the open, no matter what the cost. He needed it for his own piece of mind, and he was certain Father needed it too. He just hoped they wouldn't come to blows over such a sensitive and volatile issue as an illegitimate child. Father caught up with him. His face recovered the scowl he had momentarily dropped for the strangers they met at the bridge. Now it was just good ol' Father and son time. What a time it would be.

"We need to clear the air between us. Right here and now," Jarrod's hands were shaking and his voice was rough. "Before we push on to Strawberry."

Father nodded curtly. "Agreed."

"You know what I'm talking about."

"The letter."

"Damn the letter!" Jarrod shouted. Pilgrim startled and Jarrod pulled the reins in tight fists. "I don't care what's in it. I don't want to read it. I want to hear straight from you what this blasted trip to Strawberry is all about."

Anger flushed his father's face. "You will never have the right to demand anything from me!" he roared. "You're my son-"

Jarrod coolly lifted his chin. "Do you love my mother?"

Father's face went still. The scowl vanished like a leaf in the wind. "You know I do."

"Do you respect her?"

"Jarrod-"

"Please, Father. I'm not a child who needs simplistic lies to placate him." Jarrod closed his eyes for a moment and took a calming breath. "Do you respect her?" Jarrod's eyes must have revealed the despair he felt inside, because his father looked away.

"Yes," he said quietly. "She's everything." A moment passed and Father looked at him again. "Victoria is as precious to me as my own life. You mustn't think for one moment that I would do anything to purposefully hurt her."

"What am I to think then?" Jarrod replied. "What have you done that might cause me to believe otherwise?"

Father's face revealed nothing but determination. A new kind of resolve. He straightened his shoulders. "The horses need water. Let's take them to the river." He started to turn back. "Then I'll tell you what you need to know."

* * *

Jarrod stepped away from the horses as they refreshed themselves with cool river water. The two men had positioned themselves down river, away from the busy construction site and listening ears so they could have their 'talk'. Though Father would be doing most of the talking.

"I don't expect you to understand," Father began. "Nor do I expect you to forgive me, but you deserve to know and I will tell your mother everything when we return home."

Jarrod stood with hands on hips, his hat pushed back on his head. "I might not understand, but I'm listening."

"When you and Nick were very young, I spent a lot of time away from home. The year we purchased our first few head of cattle. It was a lean year. You were seven, I believe. Nick was five. We lived in that old single-story ranch house near Stockton where we made plans to purchase the land we have today."

"I remember the place."

"My business had me frequently traveling and your mother will even admit that things between us were strained to say the least. I was on the road more often than not and we both became adept at living apart. It was for both of us a very lonely time."

"She raised two boys by herself on that ranch," Jarrod said. "How lonely that must have been for her."

Father nodded. "I'm not giving excuses, just telling how it was."

"So you...met a woman in Strawberry," Jarrod prompted.

Father did not acknowledge that, but his silence spoke enough.

"And," Jarrod continued. "She bore your child."

"That is the rumor the letter spoke of."

Jarrod's jaw dropped. "You mean, you didn't know?" He let out an incredulous laugh. "Father, how on earth could you possibly not kno-"

The blow was instant. An open-palmed wallop that dropped Jarrod to the ground.

Shock and white hot pain numbed the side of Jarrod's face. He rolled slowly to his knees, clutching his burning cheek. He saw stars. His ears rang. He glanced back at Father who wore a solid look of granite. No remorse.

"How dare you laugh about this!" Father growled. "You know nothing about her, or why she would keep this secret from me!"

Jarrod got to his feet. He glared at his father. He never felt such betrayal in his life, but he spoke calmly, albeit with herculean effort. "It's plain to see where your loyalties lie." Jarrod lowered his hand and discovered blood on his fingertips. He pulled out a handkerchief. "This is already destroying our family. Nick is missing. God only knows what's happened to him, because he was the first to discover her 'secret.'" He tenderly dabbed at his bloody nose and sucked in a ragged breath. "You need to decide whose side your on."

Jarrod picked up his hat. "Right now, your choice should be crystal clear. I for one am going to find my brother." He held the brim of his hat in both hands, the bloody handkerchief wadded in his fist. He glanced up at the treetops lightly dancing in the breeze. "What's that thing you always say, Father? Nothing is more important to me than family!" He shook his head and replaced his hat. "I always assumed you spoke of mine."

He went to the horses and mounted the bay. Father did not move. He only watched as Jarrod started off. This was a day of firsts. It was the first time Jarrod had ever seen Father at a loss for words, the first time Father had struck him in anger, and the first time Jarrod felt pity for the greatest man he'd ever known.

And now there was quite probably an addition to his already complete family. As he contemplated just where this child would be inserted into their once orderly lives, for he saw no other way around that inevitability, he heard Midnight's hoof beats closing the distance.

* * *

Fred Madden stopped his pacing when he saw two riders approach the Strawberry sheriff's office.

Deputy Hannah still carried the rifle he taught her to use in the crook of her arm. When he heard her story of how she and her boy went after these criminals, he was so impressed that he officially deputized her on the spot. "This town needs more citizens like you," he told her.

"And my little Heath," she said proudly.

"When I find him, I might just deputize him too," Madden had said. "You're right to feel proud of your son."

She just laughed at that. "Oh, he aint my son, Sheriff. I just love him like he is."

Now, Hannah stood beside him and peered into the street with her hand shielding her eyes. "Are they the men you been waitin' for?"

Madden smiled, and relief settled in. It was time to catch up with Tennant and Simms. He stepped into the street, but as the riders neared, the sheriff's good mood vanished. Tom was the most sullen he'd ever seen him, and the bruised swelling on the left side of Jarrod's face did not escape his notice.

Tom dismounted and put out a hand to Madden. "Fred."

Jarrod gave no greeting nor made any move to dismount.

"Let's step into the office for a minute or two-I'll get you some coffee and fill you in on everything I know. Won't take long."

Tom shot a look at his son, but Jarrod sat stone-faced in the saddle. "At least get some shade on the porch," he said. "You'll be out in the hot sun for the rest of the God damned day!"

He followed Fred inside.

* * *

Jarrod sat in the saddle for a minute or two longer and then decided to dismount when Fred and his father did not step outside again.

The woman sat in a rocker next to the door, her smile, when he approached was as proud as the shiny copper badge that was pinned to her thin flowered dress. She set the rifle against the wall. "Please sit down, sir," she said. "I would love some company."

He sat in the ladder back chair and it creaked beneath him. He dropped his head in his hands.

"You must be that young man's brother."

Jarrod tried to stifle the moan that escaped him. "I am. I'm Nick's brother."

"Don't you worry none about him. The Lord takes care of his own."

He lifted his face to look at her.

She was still smiling. "Oh I know it. Just like he take care of my boy Heath. I just know he's all right. He's gone off to help that brother o' his."

"Your son has gone to help his brother too," Jarrod said.

"He's not my son," she said. "He's Leah's boy. She gone to the Lord now, rest her soul, so I'm raisin' her boy. He's like my own."

Jarrod turned to her. "How old is Heath, ma'am?"

"He's twelve-years-old but he's much older than that in his mind. He's so smart."

She looked off to a place only she could see and she rocked. "He's gone to bring his brother back."

"Who is his brother?" Jarrod asked, but he already knew.

"Nick Barkley," she said. She looked at him, her face suddenly registering what the implications of her words would be. "I did not mean to pry into your life or to upset you Mr. Barkley. Sometimes I speak before I think."

"I'm not upset." Jarrod rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants. "Nothing can surprise me today."

The sheriff's door opened and the two older men stepped outside. "We're riding north," was all Father said to him.

The men mounted the horses, Hannah waved to them and wished them well. "The good Lord is with you!" she called as they rode off to find Jarrod's two lost brothers.


	21. Chapter 21

Nick, Heath, and Mariano dismounted as they neared the old stone ranch house outside of Strawberry where they believed Matt Simms and Bill Tennant were holed up. When Nick slid out of the saddle, he nearly lost his footing when his feet hit the ground. His knees seemed to want to fold beneath him. He gripped the saddle to steady himself.

"You all right, Nick?" asked Heath who appeared at his side.

"Yeah," Nick said. "Just got a little dizzy that's all. I'm all right." He circled his shoulders a bit and rubbed his neck. "Just getting a little hot out here. It's working on my headache, but I'll handle it."

"We'll tie off the horses here and backtrack over the ridge and come in behind the rancho," Mariano said. "If you can't do this, Nick, we can turn back right now if you want to. Just say the word. No one will think badly of you."

Nick frowned even more, his brows lowered. "Don't turn back on my account. Why don' t you just try to keep up with me, huh?!" He dropped his hand from his neck and jerked his horse's reins to move him to a stand of trees. He cursed under his breath. "Son-of-a-bitch, Mariano!" he muttered to himself as he walked off. "Some friend...now he wants to turn around...prob'ly ta run off ta Mexico or some nonsense."

Heath hung back and confronted Mariano. "Why are you goading him on like that? Can't you see he's havin' trouble?"

Mariano dropped a hand on Heath's shoulder. He watched Nick carefully, but answered Heath's question. "He needed a push. That's all. We either finish or turn back. I know Nick. He would never forgive me if I made him turn back now."

"You ever think he might not get a chance to forgive you, Mariano?"

Mariano looked down at him. "We've come too far, Heath. You know we have. Anything that could happen to Nick, could happen to either of us from this point on. He's hard headed enough to keep pace with us. He just has to believe he can. I'm more concerned for you. We only have two guns. That is a real problem. It can and should keep you out of the fight altogether."

"I'm sure as hell not leavin'."

"Why not?"

"Because I-" Heath didn't know what he wanted to say, but Mariano angered him. "Because I have more at stake here than you."

"Do you?" Mariano said. There was a keen glint in his eyes. "What is Nick to you anyway?"

Heath folded his arms. "Now you're goading me."

Nick sauntered back. "I see you two are in fine spirits." He frowned at Mariano. "Get that horse over there. We're wasting time."

Mariano laughed and led his horse to Bell.

Heath turned his attention to Nick, who although still a little on the green side, seemed at least to be in a better mood. "You feel better?"

"Yeah. I do." Nick was thoughtful. "Say, Heath, I know you came a long way to be here. I owe you more than I can ever repay...you know?"

"Nah, you don't."

"Well, I do. But uh...Mariano and I...you know we have to finish this without ya." Nick took his gun from the holster and checked the bullets in the chamber. "I want you to stay here, with the horses. Out of trouble."

Heath squinted at him, and it wasn't from just the sun's glare. "I wonder how many times you've been told just that. 'Stay out of trouble' and I bet you always listened, didn't ya?"

"You'd better listen. You're a kid-a tough one I'll admit-but still a kid. It would be wrong for you to go with us. Even if you had a gun, which you don't."

"This kid could whup you right now," Heath boasted. He squared his shoulders.

Nick's eyebrows shot up. "Is that so?" He shook his head. "Well, we're not going to waste time finding out right now...are we?"

"Guess not." Heath relaxed. "I still have to go with you back up the ridge. I know the layout of the ranch pretty well. I'll stay back though, when the time comes. I won't get in your way."

"Fair enough." Nick pointed a finger at him. "Straight up, right? No goin' all vigilante on me, Heath."

"Don't ya trust me?"

Heath had such a straight face that Nick nearly busted up. "You want the truth?"

The boy dropped his guard and genuinely smiled. "I don't know that I want to hear it."

"Stay. Out. Of trouble." Nick knocked the brim of Heath's hat down over his eyes. "Kid."

"Hey!"

Mariano joined them. "Are you two finished horsing around? We have business to take care of."

* * *

They moved stealthily along the far side of the ridge to keep out of sight of the main ranch house and barn. Nick moved as quickly and as sure-footed as Mariano, so Heath gained more confidence in his injured brother's ability to handle himself. They stopped behind the ranch house a good hundred yards. They had to get closer.

"Now, of course you can see the barn. Front and back door's are open so looks clear from here."

"Yeah. I only see one horse," Nick said, indicating the one tied to the hitching post by the front porch. "Looks like an old one. You know it?"

"That's ol' Nugget. Good horse, not fast though," Heath said. "Matt musta ridden him here. I don't see Bill's horse. Could be in the barn."

"Possibly."

"We'd better move closer," Mariano said. "There's a group of boulders down the ridge and to the right. It'll give us a good view of the house if we take cover there."

"Heath," Nick said. "This is where you stay. You have no gun, so no heroics from you. Got it?"

Heath figured he should not use the poker face Nick could see right through. He opted for a disappointed look instead. He dropped his chin. "All right. I'll stay here." He felt a tap on the top of his hat and his two companions topped the ridge and moved down the hill.

* * *

Nick lacked a certain amount of balance required to move so quickly down the hill and he skidded awkwardly into the boulder. He groaned. "Damn it."

"You hurt?" Mariano said.

Nick rubbed his shoulder. "I'm fine."

"That wasn't real graceful, Nick," said Heath, who had apparently followed them.

"What are you doing here?" Nick exclaimed. "You were supposed to wait on the ridge!"

"You didn't think I would stay up there did you?" Heath said. "From the looks of things, you need my help." His eyes went wide. "Get down!" When they were all hidden behind the boulder, Heath said, "It's Matt. He's outside. He musta heard us."

Nick pulled himself up and peered over the boulder. "Unbeliveable!" Nick exclaimed in a loud whisper as he crouched again.

"What is it?" said Mariano.

"Simms is wearing my hat!" Nick turned an incredulous look. "How can he DO that? I special ordered that hat all the way from Philadelphia. My name is embroidered on the inside!"

A smile kicked up the corner of Mariano's mouth. "That son-of-a-bitch." He peered around the boulder himself. He came back after a moment. "He's gone back inside."

"We'll just have to get that hat back." Heath said.

Nick's gaze went to Heath's own pristine white hat and then to the boy's eager blue eyes. The kid reminded him of Gene and his desire to be more like Nick. Gene might have said the same thing, and would be just as willing to fight. Nick didn't want to see this boy hurt. "That hat suits you Heath. How 'bout you keepin' that perch it's resting on and stay out of this fight, huh?"

Heath shot him an icy glare. "I got a score to settle! They used me to get to you. I don't like that."

"You don't have a weapon, Heath!" Nick protested. "You can't fight!"

"You mean I don't anymore." Heath eyed the gun in Nick's hand.

"Careful boy," Nick said. "I don't care how long you wore it. This is MY gun!"

"Come on Nick! I'm not crippled like you and you said yourself I've got a good eye."

"Yeah, with knives!" Nick said. "Wait a second-who are you calling crippled?"

"Quiet!" Mariano ordered. He shot a harsh look from one to the other. "Deny it all you want, but one needs only listen to you to know you're brothers!"

Heath crossed his arms over his chest and silently fumed.

"All right then," Nick nodded. "Let's get on with this."

"We have to find out if Bill is in that cabin with Simms," said Mariano.

"Right."

"I got an idea," said Heath.

"I could fire a shot," offered Nick.

"Too risky. You would give away our location," said Mariano.

"I got an idea," repeated Heath.

"We could surround the place and-" began Mariano.

Nick cut in. "You can't surround anything with only two guns!"

Heath shut his mouth. He knew how it worked. He never told anyone more than once about a brilliant idea. If folks didn't want to be bothered with something a kid had to say, then they wouldn't be bothered and that was that. The fact he gave these fellows two chances to listen pretty much proved his loyalty to them and taxed his patience to the limit. Whatever. They settled on ignoring him. He took the moment and slipped back to the horses unnoticed by either of his arguing companions.

* * *

"Sounds like a plan-" Nick was saying when he noticed someone missing. "Where's Heath?"

Mariano looked around bewildered. "I didn't see him leave."

Nick bit his lip and glanced around. "Ah!" and then he cursed. "Maybe he took my advice and skedaddled back to the horses where it's safe."

Mariano returned a wry look.

"He's a smart kid. I don't see why not-"

"Ay caramba! He won't stay out of trouble," Mariano exclaimed, he stared at the house. "That kid IS trouble!"

"Where-?" Nick looked and sucked in a breath. "My horse!"

Heath had ridden Horse straight up to the front door of the ranch house.

"Matt Simms!" he called. "I know you're in there!" He drummed his fingers on the Bowie knife now strapped to his thigh. "Matt!" he called again. "I gotta talk to you."

Behind the boulder, Nick wanted to crawl out of his skin. He very nearly jumped up to drag that boy back. "Heath!" he muttered. "What are you doing?"

A slow smile appeared on Mariano's face. He chuckled. "He's gambling that is uncle won't hurt him. It might help us. He'll pull Simms out and maybe Tennant as well."

"His uncle is a lowlife bastard. I wouldn't put anything past him. Tennant is down right cold-blooded," Nick replied. "We have to do something."

"We'll stick with our plan," Mariano said. He got to his feet and crouched ready to run. "I'll move around to the side of the house. You stay here and make sure no one escapes out the back."

Nick nodded curtly. "All right. I guess that's what we have to do."

Mariano left. Nick pressed his body against the rock and squeezed his eyes to clear his vision. Darkness was creeping into the periphery. He opened his eyes and nothing changed, but he could still see what was in front of him and that's all that mattered. He could still shoot a man coming out of the ranch house.

* * *

Matt came out onto the shaded porch cautiously, gun in hand, looking around the area and then directly at Heath. "Boy what are you doing here?"

"Martha sent me."

"What?"

"She told me to tell you that she's gonna be late."

"What do you mean, late?" Matt's fingers tightened on the grip of his revolver and his eyes twitched nervously. "I'll give you a chance to get on outa here, Heath, cause your my nephew. But just one chance. I suggest you take it."

"I would go, but she gave me a message for Bill too." Heath called out, "Bill!"

"Boy, you are stupid!" Matt waved him off. "He's not here! He's gone back to Strawberry to-"

Mariano sprang around the corner of the house and Matt whirled lifting his gun to fire.

Mariano squeezed off a shot, and Matt crumpled to the porch.

After steadying a worried Bell, Heath slid down from the saddle and rushed to the porch. He took Matt's gun and saw that he was still very much alive and as mad as a rattler. Matt glared up at him, clutching his side. Blood oozed between his fingers through the blue broadcloth shirt. He moaned in pain. "You traitor! After everything I've done for you!" He curled up and squeezed his eyes closed.

Heath regretted seeing him this way, but a man chooses his own path. "You never did nothin' for me."

Mariano came out of the house. "No one else is here. Go get Nick. I'll keep an eye on this one."

As Mariano bent to tend to Matt, Heath backed off. This was the conclusion he had wanted, though he regretted spilling Matt's blood. It looked like he would live to go to jail and that seemed like justice to him. Heath stepped off the porch and sauntered around the corner, feeling not so bad about how things went. Nick and Mariano hadn't wanted to listen to his plan, but his plan had worked. They would have to listen to his ideas now.

* * *

Nick had heard Mariano's shot and jumped to his feet. No one ran from the back of the house and for a split second, he thought he'd gotten a bad deal and had not positioned himself where he should have been to back up his companions. He had no way of knowing who fired that shot. He had to get to Mariano and Heath.

He started to run-someone shoved him down hard from behind. Nick's head bounced off the rock and a sharp pain spiked in his skull. His vision went completely gray. He slid to the ground. When his sight trickled back, he saw a grinning Bill Tennant holding a gun to his head. Nick still gripped his colt, and he calculated what might happen if he tried to shoot him.

"Don't even think it. You're dead anyway." Bill still smiled as he pulled back the hammer of his revolver. "So you got out of that mine. And I was thinkin' about going back there to fill you in on why I hate you so much."

"At this point," Nick said. "I don't give a damn."

Bill released a prickly laugh. "Well, then, Adios, Nick Barkley."


	22. Chapter 22

Heath studied Matt's gun as he walked around the side of the ranch house. Matt could never afford a Remington, not one this new anyway. That he would sell Nick out for such a thing made Heath despise his 'uncle' even more. Heath figured on the revolver being his now, after all, he needed a gun. Only it was nearly as long as the Bowie knife. He wondered how it would feel to wield such a weapon in a gunfight.

He drew in a breath to shout to Nick that the fight was over, when he looked up and froze. He dropped back and pressed himself against the stone house. He peered around the corner. Yes, that was Tennant arrogantly standing in plain view with a gun in his hand. He couldn't see Nick at all, but it was clear from Tennant's stance and the look in his eye that he was about to kill Heath's only brother.

Heath gripped the Remington in his right hand. Without sparing a thought to himself, he charged into the open.

"Mariano!" he shouted even as he raised the revolver and cracked off a shot.

* * *

Jarrod, Tom, and Madden followed the trail of Nick's and Mariano's horses. They found themselves at an abandoned campsite by a stream north of Strawberry.

"Coals are still hot," said Father as he crouched by the fire pit, "and looks like at least three men were here."

Madden came back from a quick scouting of the area. He jutted his thumb over his shoulder. "I found a trail leading north west. Just that way. It's fresh, so we're close."

Jarrod scanned the campsite and was about to suggest pushing on when he found a wadded shirt in the brush. He picked it up.

"What is it?" Father asked.

"It's Nick's shirt. The one he wore to church Sunday before last, " His voice caught. "He says the cuffs are too tight."

Father snatched the ruined shirt from his hands. Blood had stiffened the collar and it had been roughly torn. "Are you sure?"

"It's his, I tell you!" With a jolt of panic, Jarrod suddenly realized he may never again see his brother alive. That could not be the outcome of all this. "We've got to find him!" He rushed back to his horse and mounted in one swift movement.

Tom started for his own horse. "Hold on, Jarrod-"

"I've waited long enough!"

A shot rang out in the distance. The three men listened. After a beat came a violent volley of gunfire.

Jarrod searched for a clear path around the two older men who were now in his way. He turned his horse toward an opening and he spurred the animal on. Northwest, Fred had told them. He charged toward the sounds of battle.

* * *

Mariano had just helped a wounded Matt into the rancho when he heard Heath cry out his name. Gunfire exploded. He dropped Matt and rushed to the back door. Revolver drawn, he reached the doorway just as the firing abruptly ceased.

At first, he saw no one. "Heath!" He ran out onto the back porch and he saw the boy in the yard just getting to his feet.

Heath swept an arm toward the boulders. "It's Nick!" he said.

Cold fear shot through Mariano as he ran toward Nick's cover behind the boulders.

As he rounded the boulder, Mariano saw Tennant's body first. The man was on his back, arms splayed, his torso ripped through by bullets. Then turning, he found Nick slumped against the boulder, but thankfully still breathing. His right hand gripped his shoulder.

Mariano crouched beside him. "Nick?" He grabbed his shirt and searched him for bullet holes. "Are you shot?"

Nick dragged his gaze from Bill to Mariano. He squinted. His eyes seemed to search for him and finally focused on his face. "He had me, Mariano. He God damned had me, but I-I was able to shoot once you two distracted him!" Nick removed his hand from his shoulder. Blood oozed from a bullet hole at the seam of his sleeve. "Clipped me though-" His eyes widened. "Where's Heath?"

Mariano stood. He scanned across the yard and his frown deepened. "I'll get him."

"Hurry," Nick said.

Heath sat in the middle distance between the house and the boulders, where Mariano last saw him. The boy clutched his upper arm.

"Heath! Are you all right?" He exclaimed as he ran to him.

Blood ran between Heath's fingers and seeped through the fabric of his sleeve. He lifted his face to Mariano. Tears welled in his eyes. "Is-is Nick-dead?"

"No. Not even close," Mariano said. "Come on. We'll see him." Mariano helped Heath to his feet. "First, Let me look at your arm."

"It's nothing."

"Let me see it."

Heath let Mariano rip the hole in his sleeve to get a better look. Mariano breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the wound. "Clean," he said. "Shot through the meat." He patted Heath's other shoulder. "You'll have a good scar. One to talk about, you know?"

Heath only nodded and swiped his face on his other sleeve.

"Can you walk?"

"Yeah."

Mariano started to walk back with him, but he paused and turned to face Heath. "Bill's dead, Heath. Maybe you shouldn't go over there."

Heath looked up at him. "I shot him, Mariano. I ought to face what I did."

"Spoken like a man."

* * *

Moments later, three of them looked over Tennant's body.

"I got him in the heart," Heath said. That must be the hole I made right there." He pointed to the center of Bill's chest where most of the damage was. "There was this shiny silver button. It glinted in the sunlight. I aimed right at it. Couldn't help it."

"No, that one's mine." Nick said. He still leaned against the boulder for support, but he could see what Heath was pointing at. "I distinctly remember three shots to the center. Look at the grouping, clearly those are all mine. You got him in the shoulder, Heath. You spun him sideways and pow, pow, pow!" Nick said. "I finished up."

"That's not the way it happened, Nick," insisted Heath. "If he was sideways, you couldn't have possibly made that grouping."

"Admit to the shoulder shot."

Heath shook his head. "No way."

"This is making my head hurt worse," Nick said as he propped his hands on his knees. "Settle this, Mariano. Tell this kid how it happened."

"I didn't see it," said Mariano. "I was helping Matt Simms."

Nick shot him a surprised look.

"I'll explain everything, but first, we ought to go back to the house and get out of this sun. You look like you're about to drop." Mariano said. "We need to wrap up Heath's arm and figure out how we're all getting back to Strawberry."

"I'd like to see that plan." Nick said.

They turned toward the house when the sound of hoof beats came to them from a distance.

"Riders," Heath said. "And they're sure in a hurry."

The three moved closer to the boulders in case the riders meant trouble, but the first rider to top the ridge was a welcome site.

Nick let out a whoop. "It's Jarrod and Father! And-" he shot a glance at Heath who had stepped back and looked as if he was about to bolt. "Stay with me, Heath," he said. "You have to. Understand?" He grabbed hold of Heath's shoulder and pulled him close. Looking back at the horsemen, he smiled. "My father is about to meet his son."


	23. Chapter 23

"The cavalry has come!" Mariano said. He stepped out into the open and waved an arm at the riders. "Jarrod!" he shouted. "Amigo!"

Nick moved around the boulder in his excitement to see his brother ride in. He tried to bring Heath along, but Heath ducked out if his tenuous grasp. He smiled broadly as Jarrod rode up fast and dismounted, nearly stumbling toward him with the residual momentum.

"Nick!" Jarrod exclaimed. He grabbed Nick by the arms as if he couldn't believe he was real. "Look at you! Just look at you!"

Nick was about to say,_ sorry, can't without a mirror_, when his brother grasped him in a bear hug that took his breath away.

"You rascal!" Jarrod laughed. "I thought you were dead!"

Mariano saw the distress in Nick's eyes and stood by to keep Nick from crumpling to the ground once Jarrod released him.

"Good to see you, Jarrod," Nick wheezed.

Father dismounted too and rushed to them, but stopped within a few feet of his sons. Nick got a look at his father over Jarrod's shoulder and noticed a change in him that he couldn't place. When Jarrod let him go, Mariano grasped his arm to steady him. "I'm all right, Mariano."

"You're not all right," Father said. "You're hurt." His hands were fisted at his sides. He gripped the brim of his hat tightly in one of them. He seemed unsure of himself, as if he were afraid to embrace Nick as Jarrod had.

Nick's heart began to race. The purpose of all of this god-awful journey was coming to fruition. "Father," he said, and he could hardly breathe now. "You need to meet someone." The words sounded as if they were far away, spoken by someone else. "Your-" he glanced at Jarrod who's face he suddenly saw was pale but for a bruised mark on his cheek as plain as a handprint. His gaze went back to Father and realized the dangerous territory he was now about to enter. Can't turn back. He drew a breath, but his throat was incredibly tight. He spoke with as much strength as he could manage, but his words were still broken. "He's your son." Tears burned his eyes as he turned to find Heath, but the boy had disappeared.

"Heath!" Nick shouted. He scanned the yard and did not see Heath anywhere. "He's gone..." Nick pulled away from Mariano and took several steps back toward the house before realizing his mistake. His vision began to fade. His strength melted and he saw his world slip away. Jarrod..." he whispered as he collapsed to the ground.

* * *

Heath ran back through the ranch house. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks, warm blood dripped from his fingertips. He paused briefly when he saw Matt lying in the doorway.

"Help me, Heath." Matt reached an arm to him. He looked pathetic and lost. Blood pooled on the floor beneath him.

"Help you?" Heath responded. "You son-of-a-bitch! I hope ya hang!" He jumped over Matt and bolted into the yard.

His eyes hit on Nugget, still saddled by the porch rail. He needed to get back to Strawberry, back to Hannah, back to familiar territory.

Hannah would know what to do. She would help him straighten out this crooked path life had laid out for him. His father! Here! And the man looked like the devil himself barreling over that ridge on Satan's own black horse. Heath sure as hell didn't want to meet him.

He put a foot in the stirrup and tried to mount with his useless arm in the way. He failed his first attempt but heard voices coming toward the house. He vaulted up and nearly slid completely across the saddle. He righted himself and grasped the reins. "Come on!" he commanded Nugget. The horse responded instantly and galloped away from the house and toward home...to Strawberry where they both belonged.

* * *

The men carried the unconscious Nick into the house and laid him on a bare cot they found there.

"Mariano," Tom said. "Tell me what in blazes happened here! There's another shot man on the floor!"

"It's a long story, sir," replied Mariano. "One that must wait a little longer. I have to go find Heath. He's hurt."

"Heath?"

Jarrod who had been examining Nick's head injury, glanced up. "He's your son, Father. The reason we're in this predicament in the first place! Go find him, Mariano. Bring him back."

Mariano nodded once and stepping around the wounded Matt Simms, rushed out the door.

Sheriff Madden entered the house. "Tennant is dead. What in blazes happened here?" He went over to Matt and briefly looked him over. "Tom, let's get this man to another cot." There were four cots in this large room that must have once been a living room. They lifted the injured man and laid him onto the nearest one.

Tom then went to Nick and looked him over. He saw the shackle on his son's left wrist and the injury to his head, the gash over his ear was swollen and angry-looking. How had he stayed on his feet as long as he did? What had he been through just to get to the truth of what Tom had done years ago? Tom had taken his family for granted. He hadn't known how deeply the boys cared about each other, and about him and Victoria. He had never given it much thought.

Jarrod looked at him, "He's feverish."

"Not much we can do here," Tom said.

"Father-" Jarrod began in protest.

"Don't get started with me. We have to get our bearings first." He raised a hand. "I won't let Nick down. Lord knows, I've done enough of that."

Jarrod's eyes followed him as he paced.

"Maybe there's a wagon or a buckboard in the barn."

"I'll go look." Jarrod got up and rushed outside.

Tom knelt beside the cot and silently thanked God that Nick was found and still breathing. He rubbed his forehead to stave off an encroaching headache.

Madden had looked over the other man's injury which bled like a bear. "If we don't get this man out of here, and to a doctor soon, he'll die."

"There's not a doctor in Strawberry, Fred." Tom replied. "Hasn't been for years."

"We can't move him all those miles to Stockton. That's a death sentence for sure." Madden stood. "There's only one thing to do. Somebody's got to ride to Stockton and bring a doctor here."

Tom nodded. "The horses need rest."

"There's Bill Tennant's horse. It's outside. Just over the ridge. I saw it as we rode in. It probably doesn't need as much tending as ours. I'll go bring it in."

"Good thinking," Tom said. As Madden left, Tom found a stool to sit on and pulled it up next to Nick's cot. Anger and frustration gnawed at him when he saw how hurt his son was. The iron band at his wrist was a double injury to him. A man died for it, but it didn't seem enough. If Nick had died, Tom would not have forgiven himself. He still wasn't sure if he could forgive himself even now. "What have I done?" he murmured.

"Father?" Nick said, though his voice was barely audible. His eyes were open and he looked up at him solemnly. "I forgive you."

Tom stared at him. Humbled at this surprising revelation. "You're delirious, Nick. You have a fever."

Nick squeezed his father's hand. "I'm not delirious. It's just that I know Heath. He's a good kid. A real good kid."

"Is he?" Tom said.

"I'd do anything for him."

"For his sake." Tom felt a tightening in his chest. "You'd even forgive your old man."

"I have to."

Tom sighed.

"You're a good man."

"Now I know you're delirious!" Tom said. "Try to rest."

Nick closed his eyes. "I know you, Father. There's nothing you can do to change my mind." Soon, Nick was snoring softly.

Tom folded his arms and scratched his beard in thought. A good man! He'd fathered a son out of wedlock, he struck another son for confronting him with the truth-a good man indeed.

* * *

"Heath!"

It was Mariano. Heath tried to spur Nugget forward, but either the horse didn't have the energy to run, or Heath didn't. Heath leaned forward and lay against Nugget's neck. "Don't stop now, Nugget. Please...I can't go back there. I can't..." He knew it was futile. He was too tired to push on. He could hardly sit up in the saddle anymore. "I can't see him again. I don't want to!"

He heard Mariano approach and come up along side him. He felt the nuzzling of Mariano's horse against his limp arm. Heath looked back over his shoulder. "Help me get to Strawberry, Mariano. I don't belong back there. They're not my family. He's not my father."

"What did you say to me, Heath, when I didn't want you to see the man you shot?" Mariano said. When he received no answer, Mariano supplied one. "You said, 'I have to face what I did.'"

Heath looked the other way and stroked Nugget's neck with his good hand, but said nothing.

"You faced it, Heath. You confronted the consequences of your actions and you became stronger because of it. Would you agree?" Mariano continued. "I put it to you that you must help your father do the same. He must face what he did years ago. He hasn't had a chance yet."

"He doesn't deserve a chance," Heath said. "He abandoned my mother. He abandoned me. You wouldn't understand."

There was silence for a long moment. Heath wondered if he'd said the wrong thing. He lifted his head.

"You think I don't understand," Mariano stated. "You don't know me yet, Heath, if you truly believe that."

Heath had to admit that at least. He did not know anything about any of them. "I'm sorry."

"This is not about me. This is your moment. Are you going to go back there and let Tom Barkley face what he did to you and your mother? I say, if you do you will be the bigger man."

"That's easy for you to say, Mariano!" Heath shouted. "He's not the one who abandoned you!"

"Stay angry, Heath! Go back and let him know you are a man and he can't ignore you anymore."

Heath sat straight. "Your something else."

Mariano smiled. "You'll go back?"

"I'll go back, but I don't like you anymore."

"I have a feeling I can change your mind about that too."

Heath smiled a little. "That'll take some work." Reluctantly, he turned Nugget around and they both headed back to the cabin and to a future Heath did not yet want to face.


	24. Chapter 24

Not a few moments passed after they turned back to the ranch house that Heath began to feel lethargic. He told Mariano what was happening and handed over Nugget's reins. As they continued on with Mariano leading, Heath focused entirely on not falling out of the saddle as they rode back to the house.

He hadn't rested for quite some time. He hadn't eaten. He'd lost blood. It was a natural consequence of all he'd been through, but still, he had wanted to ride back proudly. Life wouldn't even provide him that dignity.

When they arrived at the front of the house, he began to slip. His body succumbing to everything he had endured.

Heath slid out of the saddle into Mariano's arms.

* * *

The next thing he knew, it was night, he was lying on a cot, and someone was adjusting a bandage on his injured arm.

He looked up and saw a shadowy figure; a bearded man with dark, dispassionate eyes. Yellow lamplight flickered in their depths. "Just rest, boy," he said. "It's a long time 'til morning."

"Where's Nick?" Heath whispered.

"Sleeping, as you should be." The man-his father-offered him sips of water from a canteen. When Heath had his fill, his father stood and went to the fireplace where a small fire crackled and glowed. The man looked to his other son who sat with his back against the far wall. He was wrapped in a thin blanket, his knees drawn in.

"Fire will keep you warm, Jarrod," the older man said quietly.

He received no response.

To the left of Jarrod, Nick lay outstretched on a cot, unmoving. His head was turned to the wall. He looked so sunken and lifeless on that cot that Heath got the urge to jump up and shake him so he could be sure he was alive. Heath looked for Matt, but didn't see him, or Mariano. He never felt so alone or so fearful in his life. He pulled his blanket up to his chin and did not sleep for a long, long time.

* * *

Before dawn, Heath went out front for a much needed break, and for fresh air. He hadn't slept much at all, and the night had been long and torturous. Mariano had not shown up during the night and his horse was gone. With Nick still in a deep sleep, Heath was lonely for someone he knew. He wanted someone to be here who could tell him things would be all right.

That wasn't going to happen. He had to face everything alone. He felt as if his old life had died, but he sure as hell didn't want the new one that now presented itself to him.

Heath stretched his injured arm and flexed it, just to see how much movement he had in it. He could not bend his swollen elbow enough to touch his chin. He supposed the flexibility would return in time, but the pain might always linger. He turned and went back up to the porch and inside the house.

All was quiet. There was no clock to tick away the time. He had guessed by the stars that it was around 4 In the morning, and he was wide awake as everyone else slept. Jarrod had curled up by the fireplace on a bed roll. The orange glow outlined his sleeping silhouette. Heath was weary of this new brother. He was stoic and unapproachable. Not at all like Nick. He hadn't said a word to Heath nor even looked at him at least that he knew of. He got the feeling Jarrod had decided not to like him. Fine.

Nick lay on the cot nearby. His position had hardly moved a hair since last Heath saw him. He walked over and placed a hand on Nick's chest, felt the rise and fall and was reassured a little. He wished he could talk to Nick right now. He wouldn't mind even to have a disagreement with him. Anything would be better than this awful, dark silence.

The scent of tobacco came to him from outside and he ventured to the open back door. His 'father' sat in a rickety wooden chair that creaked when he straightened and glanced at him. He returned his gaze to the moonlit landscape and put flame to the tobacco in his pipe. A tuft of gray smoke billowed from the corner of his mouth.

It was strange to finally hear spoken words. "Mariano told me you saved Nick's life when you shot Bill Tennant."

Heath said nothing as he leaned his good shoulder against the door frame. He watched Tom Barkley reach to the floor beside him and pick something up.

"This is yours," he said, grasping a Remington by the barrel. He held it out to Heath. "Found it out there lying in the dirt."

Heath stepped onto the porch and took the weapon.

"I removed the bullets." A glint of humor reached the man's eyes for a moment, and he looked away again.

Heath studied the revolver, but only because he didn't know what to say.

An uncomfortable moment passed. Neither of them seeming to want to broach the major topic on both of their minds. There was no easy way to begin, but Tom Barkley, Heath learned was a man who did not meander long.

"What happened, between your mother and me...it was a lifetime ago," he said.

Heath felt the overwhelming urge to leave, but he forced himself to look at Tom Barkley. "Thirteen years," he replied. "My lifetime."

The man nodded. "A lifetime I regret not knowing about. She never told me about you," he said. "If I had known..."

"You would have married her?" Heath put in. "Saved her from a life of humiliation?"

The man took a draw from his pipe. "Impossible things, boy-"

The boy clenched his jaw and growled. "My name is Heath!"

His father turned his head slowly and scrutinized him through a haze of tobacco smoke. Heath knew by the cold look in his eyes that he could push no farther. The man's next words were calm though, which allowed Heath to relax a little, but it put an end to any further debate.

"Heath, there's some food by the fireplace. A few cold biscuits and slices of ham. I suggest you eat and rest some more. We've got a hard day coming." Tom crossed his ankles and relaxed into the old chair, returning his gaze to the quiet landscape.

* * *

Heath went back into the house. He could not holster the gun. He didn't have the gun belt that went with it. He knew he could retrieve that, but there was the problem of not knowing where Matt was. His cot was even missing from the room.

He went to the fireplace and rummaged through bags that lay there and found the food Tom Barkley spoke of. Heath discovered he was ravenous and he quickly unwrapped the packets of biscuits.

Jarrod stirred at the noise and finally awoke. His eyes went to Heath and he silently observed the boy's desperate search. "It's in the other bag, if you're looking for the ham. It's in a red tin."

Heath rummaged some more and found the tin. "Thanks." He moved to go, but Jarrod spoke again. "You can sit there. I won't bite."

He adjusted the rolled blanket beneath his head and tried to sleep again, but his sharp blue eyes popped open. "I'd like to try your cot, if you're not going to use it anymore," he said. "It's the spiders. They keep scurrying across the floor. I haven't slept a wink all night."

"Oh," Heath replied after swallowing a mouthful of biscuit and ham. He looked around for the spindly creatures. "If it makes you feel any better, I haven't either. And I sure as heck won't be sleeping now. Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Jarrod said as he got up and took his blanket to the empty cot.

Heath ate in silence and wondered what kind of exchange that was supposed to be. He also kept a keen eye out for spiders.

* * *

Hours later, the sun finally came up. Heath was drowsy now and wished he hadn't given up the cot. He wondered if Jarrod had not simply conned him out of it. He noticed that Jarrod snored contentedly until Tom came in and nudged the cot. "Wake up," he said. "We have to get the wagon ready."

Jarrod let out a groan of complaint, but sat up and pushed at his tousled hair. He glanced at Heath, but then turned and put his feet on the floor. He busied himself with putting on his boots, making a point not to look in Heath's direction at all. Then he went outside.

Heath watched the coffee bubble out of the pot in the fireplace and make hissing noises as the liquid hit the fire. He grabbed a piece of cloth and removed the pot, setting it on the stone hearth. He turned salt pork in the pan, the spicy scent of it filled the room. It made him hungry. He was glad he'd been given breakfast detail instead of wagon detail. He could cook well enough with one arm, and he could be the first to take a bite of the hot delicious pork.

Over on the other cot, Nick moaned and rolled to his side. It was the second time in just as many minutes that Nick had done that. His fever was still high. Heath was supposed to make sure Nick did nothing to harm himself, like get out of that cot without help. He put down the fork and went to him.

He touched his brother's arm in an attempt to calm him. "Can I help you Nick? What do you need?"

"I have to-" Nick swallowed and gasped. He pushed himself up. "I have to get out."

He was as pale as pale could be and he clumsily swung his legs to the floor.

"Wait a second Nick!" Heath couldn't help him with only one useful arm. They'd both end up on the floor. "Jarrod! Help!" he called.

Jarrod was there in less than five seconds. He swooped his arms around Nick and half carried him out the back door. Heath followed and stood helplessly by as Nick heaved his guts out over the side of the porch. Jarrod still held him, keeping him from tumbling over the edge.

"Get his canteen, Heath," Jarrod said over his shoulder.

Heath ran inside and grabbed the one by Nick's cot. He rushed back out and handed it over.

Nick now sat back on his socked heels, taking shaky breaths. "Sorry," he said. "It's the food. I can't take the smell." He took the canteen, swished a mouthful of water, and spit it over the edge of the planks. "I feel better now."

"You didn't get rid of anything," said Jarrod. "You're stomach's empty. When did you eat last?"

"Would it have mattered?" Nick said.

"Hell yes, but who can argue with a stubborn mule like you?"

"That's the Jarrod I know. Comin' out with both barrels blasting."

Tom appeared at the back door. "Are you all right, Nick?"

Nick nodded.

"I'll take care of him, Father," Jarrod said.

Tom took them at their word and turned his attention to Heath. "Son-" he caught himself. "Heath, come with me."

Heath sensed something grave in Tom's demeanor. He followed his father into the house.

"Let's get you back inside," Jarrod said to Nick. "You really need something in your stomach if you can keep it down. Should I force feed you?"

"Good luck with that," replied Nick as he propped an arm over Jarrod's shoulder. "What did Father want with Heath?"

Jarrod was solemn, and he spoke in a hushed tone. "Matt Simmons died last night."


	25. Chapter 25

Tom closed the old barn door as far as he could. The rusty hinges and the build-up of dirt would not allow it to completely close, so he moved Heath to an area where he would no longer see the shrouded bodies of Tennant and Simmons which lay inside. He had allowed Heath to view his uncle's body, partly to identify it, partly to put any lingering questions to rest. Heath had not questioned anything. He simply nodded when Tom lifted the burlap that covered the dead man's face. "That's Matt," he had said simply.

He had not wanted to tell Heath last night when the boy had been so weakened by his injury, but Tom wanted him to know as soon as possible that his uncle had died. Hurtful secrets, he now knew full well, were not solid structures on which to build relationships. He had so much mending to do, with all of his family...including this newly found son.

"I didn't know he was your uncle back in the house before, but I remember him now," Tom said. "His wife was Martha, I believe." Years ago, Martha had hated him completely. She had tried her damnedest to keep him from seeing Leah. Perhaps she had been justified.

"Martha's in jail," Heath replied.

Tom registered some hurt, or rather disappointment in Heath's voice but resisted the urge to place a hand on his shoulder. He didn't want Heath to shrink away from him before they got a chance, however small, to come to some kind of understanding of each other. How did a man meet a nearly grown son? This was a new experience, and one he had not had the need to consider before. From what Mariano told him, he understood Heath to be quite a cunning fighter. An admirable trait, one this boy would have needed growing up without a father in his life.

"I saw your Aunt briefly in the Strawberry jail yesterday," Tom said, he scratched his beard. "She hasn't changed at all."

Heath slowly nodded. "She's where she belongs," he said. "And as much as I hate to say it, Matt belonged there too." He sighed heavily and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I didn't want him dead though." He kicked at the dirt. "I like to think he didn't deserve to die. Nobody should deserve death. But...when I think of how he treated Nick and tried to kill him for just being my brother, well, that's the most evil thing in the world, isn't it? I can't forgive him for that. Maybe God can. Matt made a choice and got his due. That's how I see it."

No grief. Just anger. The boy had a tough exterior, tougher than Tom had ever seen in a boy his age, but Matt was his uncle. The tragedy would come home to him at some point, probably when he least expected. Tom was well aware of that, just as he was now well aware of the dangerous powder keg on which he balanced since he first crossed paths with the quietly beautiful Leah Thomson.

Tom let Heath have the last word on the topic of his uncle, for that was the boy's prerogative. Like Heath, he shoved his hands into his pockets and started to walk slowly back to the ranch house with Heath right at his side. He wondered if Leah knew, wherever she was, that the two were together. He wondered if she finally consented to have him in her son's life. It didn't matter now. It was a given. What to do with this boy wasn't so clear. He could lose his family over this son, and neither was he guaranteed that Heath would want him as a father. It might be too late for everything.

* * *

Jarrod was at the front door, leaning against the door frame, when Father walked toward the house with his 'son'. They were carbon copies of one another. Same walk, same build. They seemed to have come to some sort of agreement out there in the barn or perhaps it was mutual grief that made them companions. Jarrod felt a wry half-smile appear and it hit him that he was jealous. Ironic. He was a man with the world at his fingertips, envious of a budding relationship between his father and a young boy with nothing to his name but hardship.

He put a hand to the fading bruise on his cheek, and then rubbed his face. He had to forget it. A new life was approaching. His position was tenuous inside the family, but he had for all intents and purposes left them to live on his own. None of this should matter so much to him, but it did, especially when he thought of his mother...and Audra and Gene. This will matter to them a great deal.

"You're thinking' too hard, Jarrod," came Nick's voice. "That's a warning sign."

Jarrod turned. "No. Not at all."

"Sure." Nick still held an uneaten biscuit in his hand. He sat on the cot and leaned against the wall, not moving much, but sitting up so he could see his father and Heath walk back in. He had been worried about the two of them and had said so a few times. "Are they coming?" he asked.

"They're coming," Jarrod replied as he came back into the room. "Nick, if I don't see you eat that biscuit-"

Nick took one small bite and chewed slowly. He grimaced, putting a hand to his stomach. "Stay close. I may need you to carry me out again."

Jarrod shook his head. "I didn't come all the way here to watch you wither away." He took the stool next to the cot.

They sat in silence for a moment. Nick made a short throat-clearing noise and tentatively gestured to the mark on Jarrod's cheek. "You know he didn't mean it," but he saw the change come over Jarrod and amended. "I mean he couldn't have-"

"He sure as hell meant it!" Jarrod countered. "He meant it with everything he had!"

Nick's face dropped. He stared at the partially-eaten biscuit. "I'm sorry. That was stupid of me," he said. "Could you hand me my canteen?"

Jarrod picked it up off the floor and handed it to him.

"Thanks." He took a drink. "Well, if it makes any difference, Big Brother..." He sighed and said it as quickly as humanly possible. "I still love ya."

Surprise registered on Jarrod's face. He leaned in. "What did you say?"

Nick glared. "I don't repeat myself." He took another spiteful bite of the biscuit.

Jarrod's face lit up with mirth. "You _love _me, huh?"

"You want to _eat_ this biscuit? The hard way?"

They both laughed, but the levity was cut short when Nick grimaced and gently put a hand to the swollen cut behind his ear. "I wish this thing didn't hurt so much."

"It looks bad." Jarrod grabbed a cloth and handed it to him. "Infection has set in. We need to cut it to drain the fluid-"

"No you don't," Nick covered the wound tenderly, but soon his frown turned into defeat. "I feel terrible. I ache all over. I thought...well, I thought I had everything under control."

"I imagine you did think that. As usual," Jarrod said. "That wound will only get worse. You know it. We have to take care of it or you'll only get sicker. I didn't come all the way out here to bury you, understand? And I don't intend to." He got up. "Rest assured, if Fred Madden doesn't get that doctor here soon, I'm going to drain that wound myself."

"You are not putting a blade to me, Jarrod. I'll wait."

"Not much longer." Jarrod was serious this time. He would indeed put a knife to his brother to save his life.

Nick covered his wound protectively and watched Jarrod walk away again. He put the biscuit down, afraid he would not be able to keep down the two bites he already swallowed.

Heath walked in and his eyes set on him. "Hey, Nick! You feeling better?"

"Sure."

"Liar."

Father walked in. Nick studied both of them. "Everything all right?"

"As well as can be expected," Father replied. "Jarrod, we should eat and then try to get that wagon repaired if we can. We need to have it ready when Fred gets back."

"Nick needs a doctor." Jarrod said, and he moved to the fireplace to preempt any argument.

Father held out his hands. "You're right, Jarrod. You're right. We're doing the best we can. Waiting..." He shot Nick a sympathetic look and then turned back to Jarrod who crouched by the fireplace, preparing a biscuit with the salt pork. He still refused to face Father.

"I don't like it any more than you do," Father said, after a moment. He scowled and placed his hands on his hips. "You'll have to be patient. This is a difficult situation. For all of us."

Jarrod dropped his forehead into his hand and let out a heavy sigh. "Father, this is your making. All of it. Only it's us who are paying the price." He shot a look over his shoulder to Heath who had been watching the entire exchange by Nick's cot. His mouth went to a thin line. He stood and moved past Father. "I'll be outside."

* * *

Jarrod stepped onto the porch. The day was getting hotter and they still had an axle on a wagon that needed fixing. If they could fix it at all with the meager rusty tools they found in the barn. The wagon sat lopsidedly in front of the porch. Jarrod wanted to burn the thing. The idea that Nick might have to travel in that next to the bodies of the men who wanted him dead...a shutter ran through him. He looked at the biscuit he had just prepared and suddenly understood Nick's lack of appetite.

So deep in thought was he that he heard Mariano's voice call out to him before his mind had registered his approach.

"Jarrod!" Mariano called as he rode in. Behind him was a-Jarrod couldn't believe his eyes. A wagon! And driving it was the proud woman with the copper star.

Excitement and finally hope filled Jarrod's pounding heart. Finally, someone who would help them get out of here. Jarrod waved to them and then rushed to the door. When he saw Heath, relief washed over him. It was wonderful to be able to provide some good news for a change. He smiled broadly. "Heath! Your Hannah is here!"


	26. Chapter 26

Heath's self-protective shell dissolved at the mention of Hannah's name, and a wide grin appeared. "She's here?"

Jarrod stepped out of his way when Heath ran past him to the edge of the porch. The boy slapped the railing twice in his excitement before running to her. "Hannah!"

"Heath!" she called back happily. "Look at me! I'm drivin' a fancy team!"

The fancy team was a pair of old mules with bells on their harnesses that jingled in time with the rhythm of their hooves.

Heath climbed into the seat beside Hannah and gave her a one-armed hug. When he let her go, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Jarrod turned his attention to the approaching Mariano.

"I had a much better breakfast in town, my friend," Mariano said noticing the dry uneaten biscuit in Jarrod's hand.

As he rode up to the porch and dismounted, Jarrod stepped down to meet him.

"How's Nick?" Mariano asked.

"Hanging in there," said Jarrod. "You may have saved his life by bringing that wagon. And looks like you may have saved another besides." He nodded at Heath who's relief at having Hannah nearby was palpable.

Mariano's smile faded when he turned back to him. "Jarrod, I'm very sorry this had to happen. I was there when Tennant first spread those...lies about your father. I stopped the fight between Nick and Bill Tennant back at the ranch. I did not want to open this wound in your family, but when I found that ransom note and discovered that Nick was truly missing...I had to involve myself for his sake, you know?"

"You didn't do anything wrong, Mariano," Jarrod told him. "Except maybe when you two knuckleheads ended up here instead of turning back for home when you should have."

"Your brother isn't the only one with the hard head." Mariano said, "You are the thinker, and I see your point. I'm sorry for carrying this too far. I just never fully realized the consequences of what we were doing until it was done."

Mariano was genuinely remorseful and Jarrod could not hold another grudge with so much more on his plate than he could possibly deal with. "You're forgiven, Mariano," he said.

His friend smiled. He slapped Jarrod companionably on the shoulder. "I'll get that wagon to the barn."

* * *

Once Heath was out of the room, Nick asked, "What do you think of him, Father? As a person? Well, I mean if he wasn't-"

"You mean, if I could imagine for a moment that he wasn't my son?"

"Yes," Nick was guarded, as if he wasn't sure what would come next. "He's a tough kid, but he's got a lotta heart."

"That he is, Nick. Tough. He's also a very angry boy."

"I can understand that," Nick said. "Can't you?"

Tom sat in the stool by Nick's cot and was touched by the sight of Nick's black hat and Heath's white one side by side on the floor beneath the cot. Heath had made a positive impact on Nick for which Tom was deeply grateful. God had given him a slight emotional reprieve. At least one family relationship seemed to flourish.

"Nick, I should have fired Tennant long ago. If I had, he couldn't have done this to you."

"Then I wouldn't know Heath," said Nick. "That would be a damned shame."

Tom lifted a brow. "Would it?"

Nick frowned in thought. "Father, this is going to hurt you most in the long run. I know it. Don't let the hurt stand in the way of getting to know him. He's well worth your best efforts, just like the rest of the family. Your best. This is no time to feel sorry for yourself."

"I don't feel sorry for me."

"Don't you?" Nick folded his arms to ward off a chill. His eyes flicked up to Jarrod who just now re-entered the house. "Even after what happened yesterday between you and Jarrod?"

"Lie down Nick, you're trembling."

Nick didn't move. He wanted to face him. "You hit him for something you did...and I'll be the first to tell you, it didn't hurt just him."

Suddenly, a sick feeling washed over him and Nick felt as if he just couldn't say anymore. He sank down on his side, curling up for warmth. In a moment, he felt the chilling breeze of a blanket being unfurled over his body and drifting down to cover him. Father then placed a clean cloth over the wound and Nick shrank from the touch.

"Hurts?"

"Like the devil." With that, Nick drifted off.

* * *

If anyone suffered most openly over Tom's past choices, it was Nick. Tom tucked a corner of the blanket under Nick's arm and his fingers touched the metal cuff still attached to his left wrist. It was hot to the touch. He felt Nick's cheek and forehead-too warm. Anger had him wanting to rip that band off, but it had to remain for now. There was no way at this moment to remove this physical reminder of the abuses his son endured.

Nick was right about a lot of things, but most especially about the growing rift between Tom and his eldest. Jarrod was Victoria's boy. Always had been. He would demand more than just an apology and rightly so, but still Tom knew things would never be quite the same between them again.

Jarrod appeared and crouched beside him. "Nick?" He said softly.

"He's asleep."

"Mariano brought a wagon. It's a jolt wagon, but it will get us all home."

"A ride like that might kill him," Tom said.

"And you wanted us to fix that other no good excuse for a wagon out there?"

"That was for carrying the dead!" Tom whispered harshly. "Not for moving Nick!"

"How's he to get home then? In a saddle?" Jarrod responded. "That's not happening."

"Aw!" Nick's face scrunched up. "I'll ride in the wagon! Just..." he flipped his hand to shoo them away. "Argue somewhere else."

"Sleep, Nick! For God's sake!" Father stood and moved to the fireplace where the coffee pot kept warm.

Jarrod followed him. "How is he getting home then?"

"We're waiting for the doctor first. If he says it's all right for Nick to travel in the back of that wagon, then we'll do it. I won't have him moved otherwise. We'll stay right here."

Jarrod laughed at the futility of it all. This time and didn't worry about his father striking him first. His fists were ready. "In the middle of nowhere? With rancid well water and-and spiders?"

Calmly, Father poured coffee into a tin cup. "I can make this place better if I need to. I have the resources."

"You can make anything better. Isn't that right?"

"Not everything." Father looked at him, coffee mug poised for a sip. "Son, I admit I made mistakes."

"They're easy to admit when they're so damned obvious!"

"Jarrod, I know I was wrong to hit you. It was...it was a weakness."

Jarrod let out a breath and looked away, knowing a confrontation was inevitable. "It wasn't weakness. It was cruelty. I knew you had it in you. I've seen it sometimes outside the house where you're well-known for your 'fists first' attitude. Nick is the same way. Always thinking with his fists or his sidearm." He looked at his father again, but he had no fear of him. "Maybe that's why he's special to you. Maybe that's why you'd bring civilization here to him, rather than risk taking him to it. Always moving heaven and earth for-" he stopped. Jealousy had reared it's head again and it left a bitter taste in his mouth. "It's irrelevant. If you want to move everything to him, if that makes him well again, I'm all for it. Just don't tell me it was weakness that made you hit me yesterday. It was loss of control." Jarrod felt the dizzying effect of his rapid heart rate, but it only fueled his anger. "I'll be there when you see Mother again, when you tell her about this-this bastard son of yours. I'll make sure that she won't be hurt by your so-called 'weakness'. "

The cold look returned to Father's eyes. "I will never harm your mother!"

Jarrod returned a cold look of his own. "You already have!"

The two men stared at each other, neither making a move of retreat.

It was only Hannah's voice that broke the tension. She and Heath had just entered the house. "My oh my, Heath! I'm so glad I brought my medicines. We'll have that arm feelin' better before you can say pancakes."

"Pancakes," Heath said with a laugh.

"Oh, you're just too fast for your own good!" She hugged him gently, squeezing him to her side.

The force that kept Jarrod locked on his father, suddenly vanished. He turned and pushed a hand through his hair.

"Good day, to the two Mr. Barkleys," Hannah said. "Thank you for takin' care of my Heath and keepin' him safe."

Jarrod acknowledged her with a quick nod, not yet able to speak. He let out an unsteady breath.

"The tension in this room," she said and her face was solemn, "can be sliced with a stick." She saw Nick asleep on the cot. "Is this your brother, Heath?"

"It's Nick," Heath said grabbing her hand and taking her to him. "He's the one who came to find me."

She bent and touched the top of Nick's head. "He's burnin' up."

"I'm all right," Nick murmured but he didn't stir.

"No you're not," she said firmly. "Heath, we're going to need some hot water."

Heath went to grab the coffee pitcher.

Tom set his mug on the floor and moved toward her. "Ma'am, just a minute."

"Oh I don't have a minute," she said as she examined Nick's wound.

"You're the deputy, right?" he asked. "What do you know about medicine?"

She looked him in the eye and without hesitation said, "Mr. Barkley, when you raise a boy like Heath, you'd darn well better be a healer." She winked at a grinning Heath, who shrugged at the dubious compliment and went out to dump the coffee and retrieve fresh water. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to help your other son?" She smiled prettily and went back to the business of examining Nick's wound. "Lord have mercy! We must not waste any more time."


	27. Chapter 27

"I'm just going to cut some of your hair. Just a little."

Nick felt gentle fingers at his scalp, combing through his hair, mixed with a good amount of painful discomfort. "Don't cut my hair, Mother," Nick mumbled. "I like it the way it is." Though a part of him knew this matronly woman speaking so softly to him wasn't Victoria, it was his mother he saw, in the lamplight after the fight with Bill Tennant.

"You don't want an ugly scar do you? You want the young ladies to keep on noticin' how handsome you are."

"I don't need to get married. Not for a long time." When he heard a quiet chuckle, this time from his brother, Nick opened his eyes. Jarrod was there, beside a kindly black woman Nick didn't know. "Where's Mother?" he asked. "She was just here."

Humor touched Jarrod's face. "She's off to find you a wife, Nick."

"This isn't the time for jokes," said Father.

"Both of you men mind the task at hand," the woman said. "Now," she said to Nick, "I just have to trim your hair a little so I can clean the wound."

She closed in and scissors snipped. Nick saw a chunk of his hair drop from her fingers to the floor.

"That's a lot," he said.

"It only seems that way," she replied. "My name is Hannah. I know all about takin' care of boys and their hurts. Aint that right, Heath?"

"That's right, Nick. Hannah always takes care of me when I'm hurt."

Nick tried to find Heath, but discovered he couldn't move. Father held him down.

"Lie still Nick," said Father who was behind him, but very close. "Hannah's going to help ease the pain, but it'll hurt more at first."

Nick felt a squeeze at his wrist and he looked at Jarrod. His brother's eyes were worried, but reassuring. "Got to be done," Jarrod said. "We really have no other option."

"You sure?" Nick asked, but he knew.

"Unless you want me to do it."

"Well..."

"Just lie as still as possible," his brother told him. "It'll be over before you can say..." He glanced quizzically at Hannah. "Pancakes?"

"That's right." A knife in her hand glinted as it hovered over Nick. "Easy now."

"Oh!" Nick squeezed his eyes as the grip at his wrist and on his shoulders intensified. "Pancakes!"

* * *

Nick wouldn't know for a long time yet just how much this ordeal would affect his view of breakfast. Pancakes would forever be associated with a certain amount of discomfort and the mere sight of them would make his stomach queasy.

In his memory, the suffering he endured at Hannah's hands had been long and protracted, but as unpleasant as the treatment had been, when he came out of it the pain behind his ear had eased considerably, and his headache had diminished. Afterward, he napped restfully most of the day.

When at last he awoke to another prodding of his injury, he groaned, "Not again."

Someone patted his hand. "Not again," a man's voice said. "At least not until we can get you to a decent bed."

Nick opened his eyes. "Dr. Merar," he said. "I'm glad to see you."

Merar smiled. "The feeling is mutual, Nick. I must say, Hannah has done right by you, but I still have more work to do. I'll do a more thorough cleaning of the wound and then stitches. But you'll be happy to know, I brought you some pain medication."

The pain reliever was a dark, bitter liquid Merar poured into a cup. Nick drank it all quickly and without a grimace. The memory of Hannah's blade relentlessly digging at his scalp kept complaints about this minimal discomfort at bay. He handed the doctor the empty cup. "You're the best."

"That's what they tell me."

"So we can move him, Doctor?" asked Father.

"There's room in my buggy. He can ride back with me."

"Very good. We should be ready to leave shortly."

Merar nodded and closed his bag. "I'll be outside."

Father again took the stool by the cot. "We're going to Strawberry for the night, Nick," he said. "We're going to stay at the hotel, and Dr. Merar's going to stitch you up while we're there. Hannah knew what she was doing. She did a good job."

"Where is she?" Nick asked. "I ought to thank her."

"She left an hour ago. Heath too."

Shock struck Nick like a lightning bolt. "Heath? He's gone?" He'd been so used to having the kid around that he hadn't even considered the possibility of him leaving.

"Settle down," Father told him and pressed a hand on his shoulder. "You have an open wound. There's a bandage over it, but still..."

"Father, you can't let him go," Nick pleaded. "Don't let him get away!"

"He'll be in Strawberry when we get there. Hannah's his caregiver. He wanted to be with her," Father said. His voice softened. "The boy's uncle is dead. Heath has been through too much even for any grown man, let alone for a boy his age. He...needs the comfort of home and Hannah."

Heath needed a family, not just a caregiver. He needed _this_ family. Nick's eyes stung. He pressed the heels of his hands to them in a futile attempt to stop the tears from coming. "Did he remember his hat?" he managed to ask.

Father shifted and then said, "It's here. Under the cot where it always has been."

"I have to give it back to him." It was all Nick could say before convulsive sobs escaped him.

"Everything will be all right, son." Father rubbed Nick's trembling shoulder. "It'll be all right."

* * *

It was around three o'clock when a ragtag entourage entered the town of Strawberry. Hannah rode Mariano's horse while Heath rode Nugget. Sheriff Madden rode ahead to let the town know he was in charge. Mariano took up the back, driving the wagon that carried the bodies of Matt Simmons and Bill Tennant.

There was no mistaking the smell. The men had been dead for nearly a day. Townsfolk dotted the street like a silent tableau, gawking at the macabre parade. The bells on the mules' harnesses jangled, actually calling people to step outside and look.

Heath rubbed at the sore arm Doc Merar had wrapped and put in a sling. The arm was painful, but the doctor said it would heal nicely. That was one bit of good news. He took up Nugget's reins again and he caught sight of Liberty. She stood next to her mother near the telegraph office. Her dress was sky blue, trimmed in white lace. Her hair bows were so starched and perfect, she looked more like an expensive doll, rather than a girl he once hoped to kiss again. She stood there with her dainty mouth slightly open, staring. Heath knew he had changed greatly since he charged out of here like a knight on his steed to rescue his ill-fated brother. He had succeeded in his quest, but he never felt so defeated.

Liberty raised her gloved hand in a small wave, but her mother smacked her hand down and dragged her inside the telegraph office. Heath focused on Nugget's bobbing head, rather than face the judgmental stares of the townsfolk. He felt a stranger in his own town.

"Hold your head up, Heath," Hannah said. "You got nothing to be ashamed of. These people will know it soon enough."

The group arrived at the undertakers. Mariano hopped down from the wagon and approached Hannah. "Miss Hannah, you can take my horse for as long as you need him today. I'll be going home in the morning though."

"Thank you Mr. Montoya. I would be in need of him. I'm going to take Heath home for a while, but we'll be back this evening. I'll unlock the hotel before I leave. Pick any room you like."

"I will, thank you," Mariano said. He walked over to Heath and shook his hand. "I'm glad I got to know you Heath."

"Likewise," Heath said, his spirits lifting a little. "See you tonight."

Mariano touched his hat and turned to the business with the undertaker.

* * *

After taking care of the horses, Heath stood outside the little green cabin with its dainty petunias and picket fence. The late afternoon sun shone brightly on the front steps. All he wanted to do was run inside, close the door, and pretend he'd never met Nick Barkley.

He hadn't known what a real brother would be like. His expectations before he met him had been as flimsy as the old newspaper clippings in the box his mother had left behind. Now that he knew Nick, he didn't want to give his brother up, but what were his choices? Before, with Matt and Martha as his guardians, it seemed once he got his chores done, he could go and do anything he wanted, but now his fate was undetermined and unmanageable. He was at the mercy of his father, and he didn't even know the man, much less like him.

Would Tom Barkley leave him in Strawberry to live his days with Hannah? Would he provide for them? He doubted a man like him, so rich and prominent, would want to expose that kind of shame. Would he send him away to some military school or some other far away place so he could pretend Heath didn't exist?

Hannah came up behind him. "Go ahead in, Heath. You still live here."

Heath suddenly came to the present. He looked at her. He was nearly her height. Just an inch or so away. "When will I be a man, Hannah?"

"In many ways you are already."

"Martha can't keep me now. Even if she could, she wouldn't want to. I don't know what will happen to me." He searched her eyes. "Will I live with my father?"

"I don't know. If he's a man, he will take care of you one way or another," she said. "If he's a good man, he'll take you home."

He swept his unbound arm toward the cabin. "This is my home, here with you."

She took him by the shoulders and gave him a good hard look. "Tom Barkley is your father. You don't have to like it. It's a fact, and facts, no matter how cruel or frightening they may be, must be faced head on. Best we can do is take one moment at a time. Right now, you and me, we're home. That's how it is at this moment so let us rejoice in what the Lord has provided, even if it be but for a single day."

She turned him around and walked with him to the little green cabin, praying they both would have the strength to face the days to come.


	28. Chapter 28

Heath carried his mother's little wooden box with him when he and Hannah walked back to Strawberry that evening. His intention was to discuss his situation with Tom Barkley, to at least have his father understand a few things about him before the man could make any decisions on his future. Barkley hadn't spoken all that much to him since they'd met, but Heath was well aware of his father's power. The box of clippings his mother had saved told enough about the man for Heath to get that impression, but after meeting him face to face, he knew for a fact that Tom Barkley always got his way.

Heath realized after much mulling over that he had a lot in common with his father on that account.

He tapped the box against his leg as he walked. He shifted the shoulder that he longed to free from the sling the doctor had told him to wear for at least a week. It had been a hot, sticky day, and evening hadn't eased the temperature all that much and the sling itched him like mad. He hadn't wanted to walk back to town, but Nugget was old. All the running he did in the past few days had worn him out. He was left to graze on the sweet grass by the creek.

Hannah walked beside him leading Mariano's horse. "Are you sure you want to show Mr. Barkley that box?"

"I want him to know who I am." Heath bit his bottom lip to keep the bitter anguish down deep inside. "I want-" He stopped. What did he want? To be acknowledged? To be told he was wanted? To be loved. The imaginary father Heath had created for himself over the years was a man who had been unjustly kept from his mother and him. He had been misled or even held captive somewhere in the world 'out there.' If he could have come back for his family at all, he would have.

Tom Barkley was flesh and blood, a real man, not the hero of Heath's fantasies. During Heath's entire life, his father lived only hours away, and even so, Heath's mother would not tell him who the man was or where he lived. The disquieting fact that she would deliberately keep him from knowing the truth until she passed away hurt like hell. It was a lie he did not want to face because it made him doubt his mother. If he couldn't trust her, he had no reason to trust anybody. He wanted to heave the box and its contents into a ditch and leave them to the wind and the dust, only he gripped it tighter to him.

"I want my father to accept me and not run off like he did before I was born," Heath said. "I want him to know that I'm not a boy he can shove aside or send off somewhere just because I'm an inconvenience."

"One thing you are not, Heath Thomson, is an inconvenience," she put her arm around him and hugged him quickly. "I love you as surely as if you were my very own. You have me as long as I live. No matter where you are or who you decide to be, I'll always be here for you."

"I love you too, Hannah." Heath felt the sting of tears and blinked them back. He could not have red eyes when he reached the hotel, which already loomed within sight. He lifted his chin. No, he wanted to be strong, so everyone would know-Heath Thomson was no coward.

* * *

Nick was stretched out across a long leather sofa when Heath and Hannah came in through the front door. He tilted his head back over the rounded armrest to see them. "Heath!" He said with a grin. "Where have you been all this time? I was beginning to think you'd never show up." He started to sit up, but a curt gesture from his father stopped that. "Aw!" Nick folded his arms.

Tom stood when they walked in, as if this were his own house and they were his guests. "You know the doctor's orders," he said to Nick.

"But the doctor left."

"He left me in charge." Tom grinned and affectionately slapped Nick's foot that hung over the arm rest at the other end of the couch. "Would you like to sit down, Miss Hannah?"

"Oh, I certainly will, thank you." She took a seat in a matching leather chair by the sofa. "Oh this is fine. As many times as I've worked here, I never once got a chance to sit down!"

"You may sit for as long as you like."

Heath came around to see Nick face to face. His brother looked 'clean' in a new change of clothes-a pair of jeans and a crisp linen button down shirt. The bandage behind his ear was white, not a speck of blood soaked through. "You look...civilized, Nick," Heath said, but it was then that he noticed the iron cuff still attached to Nick's wrist, reminding him that there was still some unfinished business.

"It's the fried chicken," Nick said, gesturing to the pile of chicken bones on the plates atop the coffee table. "The cafe across the street makes the best fried chicken I've ever tasted. That woman can cook! I must have eaten two whole birds by myself."

"You did," Jarrod said as he walked in from the kitchen. He winked at Heath and said. "I thought they would have to slaughter every hen in Strawberry just to fill his stomach." He picked up the dishes and took them back.

"What did you expect?" Nick raised his voice at his brother's retreating back. "I hadn't eaten for two days!"

Jarrod shrugged him off.

"Pipe down." Tom ordered. "It's good to have you feeling better, but a man sure could get used to the quiet."

"I'm no louder than anybody else in the family," Nick said with a frown, then he turned to Heath showing interest in what he held in his hand. "Whatcha got in the box, Heath?"

Heath looked down and self-consciously hid it behind his hand. He shot an uncertain glance over his shoulder at Tom Barkley, then looked back at Nick. "It's-" Might as well speak the truth. "It's something I want to discuss with-your father."

Nick's eyes went past Heath to his father and his brows arch slightly.

"What is it?" Tom asked as he stepped closer.

Heath tapped the box against his leg. He turned to Tom Barkley and stood as tall as he could, a poor boy facing the well-dressed man as if they stood on equal footing. "Sir, we need to talk."

Nick's eyes widened at this. He said nothing and put a hand behind his head and just watched.

"That we do," said Tom.

Heath looked at Nick. "Gotta be private, Nick. You understand."

"Sure."

"Well, sir?" Heath said to Tom, "Can we step outside?"

Tom gave him a half-smile. "By all means," he replied lifting a hand. "Lead the way."

Nick followed them with his eyes, the leather creaked as he rolled to his side to watch them go out the front door.

Hannah folded her hands on her lap.

Nick noticed the sadness in her eyes. "Ma'am," he said quietly. "I want to thank you for helping me back at the ranch. Doctor said you may have saved my life."

She brightened. "He stitched you up good and proper?"

"Yes, he did."

"Did he go on back to Stockton then?"

"About two hours ago. He uh...he's going to visit my mother." Nick settled back into the couch, suddenly not wanting to talk anymore. The doctor was going to spend the night at the ranch before continuing home. Mother would learn things from him even though he would not go so far as to divulge the news about Heath, his silence would be telling enough. She would put this puzzle together just as Jarrod had. There was no way to gently break this kind of news, but Nick wanted to be with her when she learned of it. Her family should be around her to support her, as it was, they were already divided, in more ways than he could imagine.

"Tell me about your mother," said Hannah. "She must be a strong woman to raise such strong sons."

Nick smiled. He liked Hannah very much.


	29. Chapter 29

When Heath and Tom stepped out onto the front porch, they found Mariano was just about to lead his horse away from the hotel.

He looked up at them. "Mr. Barkley, the sheriff wanted me to tell you that he will be staying tonight at the sheriff's office. Someone needs to mind the-" he glanced at Heath then his eyes went back at Tom. "The prisoner."

"All right," said Tom. "You're not leaving tonight, are you?"

"I'll be leaving early tomorrow."

"Make sure to talk to me before you do. I know you're moving to your Uncle's ranch soon. I want to help you out, Mariano-with anything you need."

Mariano smiled and gave a quick nod. "I will be back after I take care of my horse. Thank you, sir." He added, "See you around, Heath," before he turned and continued walking his horse down the dusty street.

"Yeah," Heath said. "See you, Mariano."

Mariano kept on his way and lifted a hand in a casual wave.

Heath sighed. "Getting dark soon," he said to Tom. "There's a lamp in the shed out back. Mind if we go get it first?"

"By all means."

"It's around this way." Heath motioned to their left and headed in that direction toward the edge of the porch.

As Heath went ahead of him, Tom recognized the boots the boy wore. They were Nick's and had cost him a pretty penny. The fine leather stood out in sharp contrast to the worn brown trousers and suspenders Heath wore with them. His shirt was white and clean, but the left elbow was worn through and the collar was dog-eared. His blond hair grew over the collar in the same fashion as Nick's. Too long and in desperate need of a trim.

Heath carried the wooden box close in the crook of his arm as if he were afraid it would fly away. He paused at the door of the little old shed just around the side of the hotel. He looked up at Tom thoughtfully and asked, "If Martha stays in jail for kidnapping Nick, does that mean that the ownership of the hotel will fall to me?"

Tom lifted his brows, surprised at the shrewdness this boy possessed. He frowned in thought. "I don't know their financial situation, Heath. Judging by their actions alone I assume they were deeply in debt. The bank probably owns it."

"Oh," Heath said, his mouth compressing into a thin, angry line. "Then I don't own a damned thing, do I?" He turned and jerked open the shed door.

The boy was hostile, but kept his anger under tight control. Tom wondered when Heath might snap. He was too young to be burdened with so many problems that were beyond his control.

Tom glanced inside the shed as Heath picked up a lantern and rummaged for tinder. Inside the shadowy, dusty old shed were a variety of tools. Shovels, rakes, saws... perhaps something was in there that might help them remove the band on Nick's wrist. He didn't want to take Nick home to his mother still symbolically bound to the men who kidnapped him. Victoria should never see her son that way...and yet there was already too much she would have to see and understand before they could possibly move on with their lives.

In a moment, Heath had the lamp lit. He closed the door again, and the rusty hinges creaked. Small moths already attracted to the lamp light fluttered around the glass globe. Heath used the lamp to motion toward the street and started to head that way. "It'll take a bit of walkin' to get there."

Tom let him take the lead. "Where are we going?"

It took a moment for Heath to respond. He didn't look at Tom, but kept his eyes ahead. "A place where nobody ever wants to go."

* * *

They walked in silence as evening turned to night, the lamplight swinging and casting their shadows to and fro along the path. They stopped eventually in front of a church, pale in the moonlight, pristine and serene. Stepping stones wound a path to a wooded area in the back. "My momma is buried here. She's been there for six months. Not long enough for me to forget the sound of her voice."

"You'll never forget it, Heath," Tom said, for there were times that he too remembered her laugh or the playful way she called his name. "Not as long as you live."

Heath finally tilted his face up and looked him in the eyes, searching them. "Would you come with me? You...must have loved her once. I figure you might want to at least see where she's resting."

Tom wasn't sure, but he nodded slowly. Years had passed, but the ache was still there...a 'what if' that could never be. The beautiful, spirited girl he once knew, his Leah. She lay buried here. Shame took hold of him. He shoved his hands in his pockets. To even think of her in any way as 'his' after all that had happened was a farce, he knew. But the absolute truth was...he had loved her with all his heart.

He cleared his throat and returned Heath's unfaltering gaze. "I will go with you."

With the son he barely knew leading the way, Tom stepped deeper into a past he could no longer reconcile and a future he could no longer control. In this unfamiliar territory, he did not know what to do or say next. He simply followed Heath into the woods and finally to the white picket enclosure nestled quietly there.

The grave stones and crosses loomed darkly in the crowded cemetery, silently sleeping...waiting. Heath unlatched the waist high gate and stepped inside. "Momma's grave is over there," he said with a motion of his chin. Under the sycamore tree."

They walked silently around the edge of the yard, careful not to cross over the graves. Leah's was set away from the nearest headstones. Hers was a simple, roughly carved wooden cross. Tom held his hand out for the lantern, and Heath handed it to him. Tom knelt by the grave and read the words etched on her marker. He smoothed his hand over the rough, splintery edges of the cross that must have been tooled by unskilled hands. He wondered if Heath had had to make it himself. Tom wished he had saved her from this end. Perhaps he could have. He had made so many mistakes in his life. The burden of them all now weighed on his shoulders. He bowed his head and caressed the cold ground that covered her. The grass was dry and brittle. It was not a fitting place for a woman such as Leah.

Tom rubbed his eyes and wished to God he could turn back time. It was another lifetime ago.

"I'm sorry," Heath said after a moment. "I...didn't think you cared. I wanted you to, but..."

Tom lifted his face and looked up at the boy who stood across from him. His hair still shone golden in the moonlight, just as Leah's had. But his face was dark and drawn in anguish. "Heath, know that I do care. It has been a very long time. So many things were said back then. We both knew we couldn't..." But what was he to say to her son? How could he tell him the words he and Leah spoke to each other in those final days? Perhaps he too would take them to the grave. Somehow, though, there had to be a kind of peace between him and her boy. His son. "When I first heard about you, I had hoped-" He fisted his hand and sat back on his heel, no longer wanted to dwell on what was. "I hoped to see your mother. To ask her why she never told me about you...to ask her forgiveness and to somehow set right what I'd gotten so wrong."

Heath held the box in both hands now, gazing at it forlornly.

"You wanted to share the contents of that box," Tom prompted.

"No," came Heath's weak reply. "It's nothing." He said, his voice trembling. "It's nothing at all." He let out a gasp and swiped angrily at his tears. "All my life I wanted you to come home! I prayed that you would find your way back to us. And now here you are, and somehow it just doesn't matter anymore." He stood there irresolute for a moment and then his words came in a rush. "If you want to see all that's left of her and the family you could have had, then take it! I don't need it anymore!" He dashed the wooden box to the ground and rushed out of the cemetery, not caring this time where his feet fell.

"Heath!"

The boy didn't turn back. He jerked open the gate and ran down the path. Tom stood. The box lay open on the ground, its contents strewn across Leah's grave.


	30. Chapter 30

(Meanwhile, back at the hotel...)

"Ha, ha, ha!" Nick gloated. He laid down his cards. "Read 'em and weep! Four of a kind!"

He reached wide to rake in all the chips he just won when Jarrod, who sat in front of him, cross-legged on the floor, flashed his hand. "Royal flush. Hearts."

"No. Not again." Nick leaned across the coffee table. "Let me see that!"

Jarrod grinned and laid down the hand.

"That's no Royal Flush!" Nick exclaimed indignantly. "What are you trying to pull? That's the jack of diamonds right there." When he noticed Jarrod's grin, his face broke into a smile too. He swept the chips toward his side. "Mine! All mine! Brother, you're about to lose your shirt!"

"We'll see about that. I'm just getting warmed up."

"From the looks of things, you're going to be getting pretty cold and quick." Nick shuffled the deck. Before he could lay down the first card, Heath came in through the front door.

"Heath," Nick said, but his smile faded when then realized the boy just lingered by the door looking frightened, as if he wanted to run back out. "What's the matter?"

Heath just turned to the window and pushed the curtains to peer outside.

"Highwaymen after ya?" Nick asked.

When Heath finally looked at them, he asked. "Where's Hannah?"

"She's in the kitchen," Nick said. "Making a fancy dessert. I smell those cinnamon apples baking as we speak. I can't wait to try it, can you Jarrod?"

"No," Jarrod said, but the worry in his face showed that he wasn't really playing along. "Heath, where's Father?"

"You mean _your_ father."

"What happened?" Jarrod asked, not wanting to give up. "Is he all right?"

"He's fine!" Heath snapped. "Just fine."

Hannah stepped out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. "Heath?"

Heath rushed around the back of the couch toward Hannah at the kitchen door. "Hannah, can we go home? I need to go home."

At that moment, Tom opened the door and entered with Heath's box in his hand.

"You're staying here tonight, Heath," Tom ordered. "You're my son and that's the way it has to be."

Heath's hands balled into fists. "You can't make me stay!"

"Miss Hannah," Tom said a little more diplomatically. "May I speak with you privately?"

"Of course."

"No!" protested Heath. "Hannah's not talking to you!"

Hannah turned the boy to her and sent him as stern look. "Now Heath. Mind your manners! I do not take orders from you. I never have, and I sure aint startin' now." Her expression softened when she saw the real fear in his eyes. She squeezed his shoulder. "You stay out here with your brothers. Talk to them. I'm sure they want to know about you as much as you want to know about them."

"Hannah, please!"

"Mind me," she said and then she followed Tom Barkley into the kitchen.

Heath stood dumbfounded and lowered his head, pressing a hand to his face. He didn't want to cry about anything, but couldn't stop the process. The burden was just too heavy. He could feel Nick's and Jarrod's eyes on him.

"Want us to deal you in, Heath?" said Nick softly.

"We need another player," said Jarrod. "We can't let Nick take all of my money."

Heath stole a look at them through a haze of tears and realized they wouldn't tease him or belittle him for crying. "No thanks," he whispered. "I don't have any money."

"I'll buy those boots off you," Nick proposed. "You can try to win 'em back."

Heath glanced down at his fancy boots. He'd die first rather than part with them, but somehow, he had a feeling he would win them back and then some. "All right." He swiped his face on his sleeve and came back to join them. He dropped into a chair.

Nick dealt him the first card and paused with his hand on the card until Heath looked him in the eye. "You're going to be fine Heath. Trust me."

Heath nodded, but Nick couldn't guarantee he would be fine when it was Tom Barkley who gave him so much pain.

Jarrod had said nothing. He only focused on his hand. The bruising on his cheek was still visible, even by lamplight. Heath wondered what 'fine' meant to the Barkleys.

* * *

"I intend for Heath to live on the ranch with his family."

When Hannah heard the words, they sent spears of panic through her heart. She took a breath and set the teapot back on the stove. She took the two cups and placed one in front of Tom Barkley at the kitchen table. She sat across from him and took a slow sip of her tea. She knew this moment would come, though it was sooner than she expected.

Tom took her silence for disapproval. He was ready for this. "He is my son. He deserves a better life-"

Hannah put down her cup and placed a soft hand over his. "I love that boy, Mr. Barkley."

"I know you do, and it pains me to ask you to let him go, but I am his father. He's my responsibility. I never had a chance to take care of him as I should. Lord knows I made a terrible mistake by even seeing Leah when I knew it was wrong."

Hannah watched him carefully. "When I see Heath, I don't see a mistake that needs fixing. I see a boy who needs love and understanding. Can you give him that?

"I can give him more than what he can get in Strawberry. An education, proper clothes, a chance to make something of himself. I can give him a name." He did not want to mince words. "He's my son. He's coming home with me. I believe the sheriff will back me up if necessary."

She sat straight. Anger flooded her eyes. "I am sure he will, Mr. Barkley!" Her next words were clipped and agitated. "I do not intend to keep your boy from you. I see clear as day that you can provide him with every material thing he needs. But I do not want that boy to feel unwanted or unloved even in his own family when he is already cherished here. Do you understand my meaning, Mr. Barkley?"

His countenance softened and suddenly Hannah saw the conflict that battled within him. "Of course, my intentions are for him to have a better life. I'm already fond of him. Though I don't know him yet, he is my son. I intend to do right by him as best I can."

"And what of your wife?"

Tom smoothed a hand on the box where a locket with a picture of the beautiful Leah rested inside. "She is a singular woman of high moral character," he half-smiled. "Unlike her husband. She will be very angry. Most likely, angrier than I've ever seen her, but she can see clearly. It'll take some time, and I may sleep in the stables for a long while, but she will come around. She'll perhaps love Heath more than she can ever love me."

"From what Nick has told me, I believe you are truthful about her character," Hannah said. "She sounds like an exceptional woman."

"She is. And I don't deserve her."

"Aint that the truth," she muttered before taking a sip of her tea. She set the cup down again. "Mr. Barkley I will support Heath spending the night here, but I would like for him to come home in the morning. He'll need time to sort things out, and I will need time to say goodbye." Tears sprang to her eyes, but she did not give in to her sorrow. "I know Heath will get along fine without me, but I don't know how I will get along without him!"

"Miss Hannah," Tom said softly. "I won't be taking him tomorrow."

She looked at him and tilted her head, perplexed. "I thought you were leaving tomorrow."

He sighed. "To tell you the truth, I'm not going anywhere. Dr. Merar is spending the night at the ranch tonight. He's probably with my wife right now having a late supper and she is probably getting the idea to pay a visit to Strawberry. As a matter of fact, I know that's just what she will do. Nick doesn't need to be riding yet anyway. Another day of rest will do him good, though I don't know if tomorrow will be very restful at all."

"Oh, you think she's coming here?" murmured Hannah. "Lord have mercy."

"My thoughts exactly."


	31. Chapter 31

Heath followed Hannah to the door that night knowing that this goodbye was the first real break from his old life. His heart ached like never before. Even when his momma died, he felt at least some amount of relief for her. She had suffered for so long. Death was for her a release. She was in Heaven where she would no longer feel pain.

For his life to be stripped of everything familiar...it was a kind of death in itself. He didn't know what to make of it. He was left numb and uncomprehending.

Hannah was in agreement with Tom Barkley. She was letting him go.

He followed her outside to get away from the watchful eyes of the family who, for varying reasons, had taken over his life. Hannah turned to him as he shut the door. The pain in her eyes that mirrored his. They embraced and held each other for a long time. He wanted to remember what it was like to hold her this way, to take in her warmth, her kindness. This would be the last time he would ever know a mother's love. He wanted to hold on to it forever.

"I'll be home early tomorrow. Soon as sunup," he said.

"I know, Heath." She squeezed him tightly, and then let him go. "We'll have the best breakfast in Strawberry. Everything you want." She touched his cheek and smiled. She looked to the softly glowing windows of the Strawberry Hotel. "Your momma is smiling on us tonight. I know this is what she would want for you. To have a family, to be fed, and clothed..."

"Hannah," Heath said, despair tightening his chest. "You know I have all of that with you."

"He's your father. Your real father, and he wants you with him. We could not ask for any better than that." Hannah took a step back. "Now, you go in there and get to know your family. I will see you bright and early tomorrow morning."

"Good night, Hannah," Heath told her as she started down the steps of the porch. "I love you."

"I love you too, sweet boy." She sang a hymn as she walked toward home.

Heath went slowly to the front door of the hotel and he could still hear her faint singing as he placed his hand on the doorknob. This was it. For good or bad, his life was starting all over right now, with a whole new family, new rules, a new structure, everything would begin again. He might could hold it off by not opening the door, but he took a breath and entered the hotel.

He half expected the three Barkley's to be frozen in place, waiting for him to return, but Nick had left his spot on the couch and gone somewhere. Jarrod stood next to a small bookshelf and leafed through a book in his hand. Tom sat at the table where Nick had played his last hand of cards with Matt Simmons. Heath noticed that the blood stained carpet was conspicuously missing and a bare wooden floor was in its place.

The wooden box Heath had thought he wanted to show his father was on the table in front of him. Jarrod glanced over at Heath as he entered the foyer and quietly removed himself from the parlor.

Heath rubbed his sore arm. He had ditched the sling the doctor insisted he wear; it made him feel more trapped. He realized there was unfinished business between him and Tom-his father- and clearly the man wanted to continue the conversation that had been so abruptly cut off at the cemetery. There was no running away this time. Heath had to see it through.

Self-consciously, he wanted to shove his hands into his pockets, but he kept them at his sides and faced his father. He pulled out a chair across from him and sat. The table was clean, but for the box and a table lamp and Tom Barkley's pipe.

"I want to talk to you about this box, Heath," Tom began. "It is important to you. I would like to hear about it."

"I-I haven't had it very long." Heath wanted to kick himself for stammering. He took a breath. "Hannah showed it to me before I went to find Nick. It helped me put the pieces together. It helped me realize he was my brother, and to know he had come looking for me."

A faint smile crossed Tom's lips. "And then you went looking for him."

"I guess the idea that I had a brother all this time got the better of me. I had to find him."

Tom removed the yellowed newspaper clippings from the box and a distant look came over him as he read them. Heath wondered what Tom remembered of that time. Had guilt played a role in his relationship with Leah? Or could that be something new now that he could no longer hide what he did?

Tom set those aside and then took out Leah's note. He did not unfold it. He looked at Heath.

"It's a note Momma wrote to me," said Heath. "It was the only way she could bring herself to tell me about you."

Tom was about to set it aside without reading it.

"Go ahead and read it. There's not much in it you don't already know."

His father unfolded the letter and began to read.

* * *

Nick sat at the kitchen table with Hannah's apple pie in front of him. How she managed to scrape up such a sweet smelling dessert from the remnants she found here, he couldn't guess, but she was a genius at cooking. He was still incredibly hungry and was sorely tested not to just devour the entire dessert all by himself, but then Jarrod walked in.

"Oh, you pulled it out of the oven?" Jarrod said.

A smile popped onto Jarrod's face that seemed so child-like that Nick bit back the sarcastic response poised at his lips. "Get two plates. We'll divvy it up."

Jarrod put the book he was holding on the table and went to search the cabinets. As he opened and closed the cabinet doors, Nick picked up the book. "Don Juan," he read aloud. "Pshht!" He said in disgust and dropped the book on the table. "When did you start reading that garbage? At Berkeley? Is that what Father's hard earned money went to?"

Jarrod found the plates and brought them to the table. "It's poetry, Nick. You wouldn't understand." He sat. "Wait. I thought I found you reading Byron once."

"Never."

"As I recall, it was because of a girl named...Leila."

"What of it?"

"Didn't she get you interested in reading Byron?"

"Yeah."

"Whatever happened to her?"

"Turned out she was married."

"Married!"

"Yep."

"Married?" Jarrod said again. "But she was so young! What was she? Sixteen?"

"She was twenty-five, Jarrod."

Jarrod's mouth stayed open while he stared at his brother.

"I stopped seeing her as soon as I found out."

"How did you find out?"

"Her husband found me in his house and tried to shoot me," Nick replied. "His gun jammed, but he put the fear of God in me. I changed my ways. Now I'm all about references."

Jarrod's face lit up. He let out a booming laugh.

"That's funny to you?" Nick said as he began to slice the pie.

Just then, the back door opened, and Mariano poked his head in. "What am I missing?" he said as he came on through the door.

"Apple pie and Jarrod laughing his head off about me almost getting killed," Nick said. "You missed the story, but you can still have pie. Jarrod get us another plate."

Jarrod's laughter calmed some, but was still ongoing. He swiped a tear from the corner of his eye and let out another laugh. "All right. Another plate."

Mariano joined Nick at the table.

Nick continued the story. "Turned out her mother was in on the whole thing. She'd made me dinner that night. Invited me over and everything. I had no idea she was living with the two of them."

"You're lying!" exclaimed Jarrod.

"You talking about Leila?" Mariano said. "I warned you about her, but did you listen?"

Nick frowned. "You never warned me about anything."

"I suppose you'd say that about Bill Tennant, too."

"I'm always the last to know these things," muttered Jarrod. He sat with them and placed the extra plate on the table.

Nick served the dessert in big, heaping piles on the plates.

"Save the last for Heath," said Jarrod.

Nick set the dish aside. "He'll have the biggest piece."

"Where is Heath anyway?" Mariano asked. "I wanted to tell him goodbye."

"So where are you going?" Nick said. "I thought you were staying here with us. You have a room already."

"I figured with Heath here and all, I would only be intruding," Mariano said. "The sheriff's office has an extra room. I'll stay there."

"In a cell?" Nick demanded. "After all that you've done for me?"

"No. A room with two cots. It's comfortable. Besides, I want to get an early start tomorrow morning. But um, there's something else I want to tell you about."

"What is it?" Jarrod asked.

"This town," said Mariano. "Some folks in Strawberry don't take kindly to the fact that we killed Matt Simmons and now are taking up in his hotel."

"It's justice," Nick said bluntly.

"Two men are dead because we were in Strawberry, Nick. There will be questions."

"Let them ask," said Nick. "I'll tell them. Matt Simmons tried to kill me, and then he tried to shoot you. In this case, the justice was poetic. I think Jarrod's friend Byron would have written about it."

"Anyway, Just don't be surprised if you get some opposition in the morning from certain townsfolk."

Jarrod spoke up. "How about tonight...right now...we enjoy Hannah's sweet-smelling apple pie?"

Nick brightened at that suggestion. "I concur, counselor."

* * *

The letter was bleak and written by a woman who knew she was dying. Tom held the open locket in his hand. The photo inside was of a young, golden-haired girl he once knew. Now, across from him was her son. He could not make things right, but he could make them better. He closed the locket and placed it in the box.

The clippings, he folded along with the letter, and slipped them into his vest pocket.

Heath's face grew dark with anger. "Those papers belong to me."

"I'll keep them safe."

"Safe from who?" Heath said. "Your wife?"

"I intend to take you into my home, so I'm going to make one thing very clear," Tom said. "You will maintain a respectful tone when addressing me."

Heath's jaw was tight. He thought of Jarrod and the bruise on his cheek. "Will you hit me like you hit Jarrod?" Heath unbuttoned his collar to reveal the bruising he had received when Matt had grabbed him by the neck. "I'm used to people like you. You're no different than Matt. I could take it from him. I can take it from you."

"I'm your father."

"For all of 24 hours."

Tom held back a response. If Leah had told him about Heath, he would have supported the boy from day one, but there was no point in bringing that up with Heath. Tom collected his pipe and tobacco. "We are done for the night."

"I want my letter!" Heath demanded.

"Son, I suggest you settle down."

"I'm not your son!" Heath shouted. "I choose my family! I didn't choose you!"

Tom caught sight of Nick who had come in from the kitchen looking more than a little concerned. Tom spoke to Heath one last time. "You have no choice, son, and neither do I." With that, he left the table and went upstairs to his room.

Nick walked over. "Heath, come with me."

"Why?" Heath snapped. "I'm mighty tired of people telling me what to do."

"Better than standing around in here by yourself, but if that's what you want..." Nick turned and headed back to the kitchen.

"Oh, all right!" Heath grumbled. "I got nothing better to do."

* * *

Heath's mood altered for the better once he devoured his portion of Hannah's pie and the three of them, Nick Heath and Mariano, retold the epic story of their adventures in Strawberry to Jarrod, who said more then once how he wished he had been with them.

The evening wound down and Mariano bade them good night with a promise he and his mother would visit the family once more before leaving for Mexico.

The three brothers, still not tired, decided to play a few rounds of poker before going to bed. Jarrod went upstairs to make sure Father's door was closed and that he was definitely in bed. When Jarrod came back downstairs, Nick asked, "Is he asleep?"

Jarrod stopped and eyed his brother suspiciously. "Before I answer, are you drinking?"

"No." Nick revealed a bottle of whiskey from behind a pillow.

"Nick, I swear to God!"

"Ssshhhh...you shouldn't swear." Nick was smiling secretively. He clinked the whiskey bottle against his glass.

"You know what he'll do if he catches you drinking."

"Is he snoring?"

"Yes."

"Then..." Nick nudged Heath. "Go get us a couple more glasses."

"Sure, Nick." Heath got up to run to the kitchen.

Jarrod grabbed his shoulder and stopped him. "A cup of tea for you, Heath."

"Aw!"

"Jarrod, that boy is more of a man than some of the cowboys on our payroll."

"He's not drinking whiskey in my presence."

"He shot a man to save my life!"

"I'm saving his."

"But-"

"NO!"

"Shhhhhh! Pappy!" Nick said, his eyes flashed upstairs to Father's door and back to Jarrod again. "For God's sake! You win!"

Satisfied, Jarrod moved to sit in the chair he had placed across from Nick. His brother tapped the deck of cards against the tabletop and began to shuffle.

"If you're going to stay, ante up," Nick said flatly.

"I don't know. Heath already has my hat."

"Win it back, big brother."

Jarrod plopped into the chair across from Nick and began to untie a shoe.

"What are you doing?"

"Anteing up." Jarrod pulled off his left shoe and plopped it on the table.

"What about the right one?" Nick asked.

Jarrod shrugged. "If there's a fire I want to be able to hop out of here."

Heath came back with one empty whiskey glass and a cup of warm leftover tea.

"Thanks Heath," Nick said. " Maybe next time you can try the whiskey, huh?"

"I don't drink, Nick." Heath confessed. "My momma taught me that it's sinful."

"Oh." Nick looked a little ashamed as he glanced at his own full glass.

"Don't worry about me none," Heath told him. "I don't intend to come between a fellow and his drink."

"Heath, you're the last person I would worry about." Nick grinned and downed another glass. "Deuces wild..." He started dealing the cards.

* * *

"Full house."

Jarrod looked at the cards as Nick revealed his hand. "You...dirty...son of a jackal." Nick won both of his shoes and a gold coin he carried around for good luck.

Nick grinned lopsidedly, the liquor slurred his speech. "If I'm a son of a jackal, then you're a son of a jackal," Nick's half-lidded gaze moved from Jarrod to Heath. "We're all sons of a jackal."

"Hear, hear!" Jarrod lifted his glass, sloshing some whiskey on the table. "Oops."

"Never mind that," Nick said and lifted his glass too. Their glasses clinked. "Heath?"

Heath rolled his eyes and raised his tea cup to join the toast.

"Tea totaler!" accused Nick. "You need a man's drink, I'm tellin' you!"

"Oh no he doesn't!" Jarrod said. He threw his arm between them. "He doesn't need a man's drink! He needs to k-keep his wits, you know? He's probably the smartest of the lot of us."

"Him?" Nick said. He playfully punched Heath in the shoulder. "Nah!"

Heath reluctantly let out a laugh. A rare smile lit up his face.

Jarrod propped his elbow on the table, drink in hand. He downed the rest of it and slammed the class down. "You kno-ow," he hiccupped. "You two look like you grew up together. A brother might get jealous."

"No need for that, Jarrod. He's your brother too."

"Until now, I had assumed he was just yours." Jarrod admitted. He sloppily propped his chin in his hand. Booze magnified the gratitude he felt at having his brother back and safe. "Heath, as cantankerous and as foolish as my brother is sometimes, I couldn't possibly live without him. He is by far the most difficult, the most belligerent man a fellow could ever come across, but he's my brother. I'd do anything for him. Anything. I'm grateful you got him out of that mine. If I lost Nick, I'd be lost."

His eyes got misty.

Nick gazed at him for a moment and said, "I didn't know you felt that way."

"It's not something I normally say-where's that bottle?"

The bottle was by Nick's foot. He picked it up. "You sure you want more of this?"

Jarrod nodded and tapped his glass.

"Last round," said Nick. "You're tipsy."

"Just pour, reverend."

"You know, Jarrod, when I first found Nick," said Heath, "he thought I was you."

Jarrod raised a brow. "He did?"

"I don't know why he expected you since you weren't anywhere around, but-"

"Jarrod and I have a pact," said Nick. "I get in trouble. He rescues me."

"Damn straight," said Jarrod and he took a sip of his topped off glass. "Heath saved you from the mine."

"With Mariano's help."

"With Mariano," Jarrod agreed. "But it seems to me the job needs finishing. That iron shackle needs to go. Right now. Keeps clinking against the bottle every time you pour."

"You think it's annoying," Nick replied. "Try wearing it."

"Got some tools in the shed," said Heath. "We can maybe take it off. I think there's a rusty ol' hacksaw in there."

"Rusty, huh?" said Jarrod. "That shackle is rusty too. It just might work."

The three of them headed outside for the shed.

* * *

Nick was asleep, the lucky bastard. Jarrod worked up a sweat sawing at the chain link that held the shackle on Nick's wrist and looked up to see his brother had laid his head on the workbench and was out cold.

Jarrod stopped sawing and gestured at his brother. "Just look at that mouth hanging open like a barn door," he said. "We're slaving away and he couldn't care less."

Heath laughed. "A mouse could have pups in there and he wouldn't know the difference."

"That's funny, Heath. I think you're right."

Nick snorted and smacked his lips. He turned his head away and continued to snore.

"Here," Heath said. "Let me saw a while."

"No," said Jarrod. "You rest that arm. I can keep going."

"If you insist."

"I do."

Heath sat on a stool and watched for a bit. "Why do you respect your father?" he asked.

Jarrod looked at him in surprise for a moment and then continued his task. "Why do you ask? Are you looking for reasons to like him?"

"I'm asking because he hit you and you still respect him. You still treat him as if he deserves your loyalty. A man hits me, he loses my respect."

"If you want to know, I'm very angry with him." Jarrod stated. "It doesn't change the fact that he's still my father. I still love him." He stopped working for a moment. "Even though he's a tyrant at times." He continued to saw.

"Why do you love him?" Heath said. "I mean, if he can be that bad?"

"I can give you many reasons, Heath, but it seems to me you're looking for your own. I can't supply them to you. He's your father too. I believe you'll find your answers, but it will take time."

The chain suddenly snapped. Jarrod let out a whoop. "Success!" he shouted.

"Boy howdy! You did it!"

Jarrod wiggled the link out of the clasp and the shackle fell away. "And Nick is so grateful," he remarked of his still sleeping brother. "What do you say we take this free man up to his room? You and I should get some shut eye too. Won't be long before morning."

"Right," replied Heath with a yawn. "Another day." He moved to wake Nick.

Jarrod stopped him. "Heath. I want you to know. I wasn't happy learning about you, but now that I know you, and I know what you went through to help Nick, I'm honored to call you my brother."

Heath smiled. "Thanks Jarrod. It sure means a lot to me, having two brothers. It's more then I ever hoped for."

"Will you two brothers clam up?" Nick groused. "I've got a headache."

Jarrod laughed. "Medication is wearing off." He mimicked drinking and winked at Heath. "Come on, brother Nick. Let's get you to bed." Jarrod nudged him and got him to his feet. He draped one of Nick's arms over his shoulder to support him.

"I was comfortable. I don't care where I sleep."

"Sure Nick," said Heath as he took his other arm and picked up the lantern. "We should toss you in the stable with the horses."

"I've slept in worse places."

"We won't go into that," said Jarrod. "Heath's too young for those stories."

"Oh, right," said Nick. "Maybe later, Heath."

"Much later," said Jarrod.

The three of them went back into the hotel, with morning and it's own set of challenges just a few short hours away.


	32. Chapter 32

Victoria studied her reflection in the gilded bedroom vanity. She set her riding cap stylishly on top of her elegant curls and angled her head just so. She was maturing, her lustrous brown hair showed signs of gray and her smile when she tried it on, revealed more creases nowadays than she cared to know about. Still, she was quite pleased with her appearance. She looked elegant and fit well into her social status as the wife of a prominent Southern California businessman.

She sat straight and tilted the riding cap slightly down over her brow for a hint of mystery. Yes, she could still wear it well. Her husband had always told her she was beautiful. She once agreed, but years of struggle with the ranch and bringing up four children took its toll on her. No longer the youthful, daring girl she once was, she had grown prudent and always considered the consequences of her actions. Responsibilities of keeping the Barkley ranch thriving had taught her self-control and assertiveness. She could run the ranch on her own and had done so many times when Tom was away. She was in every way a business woman with a good mind for leadership, and she liked it.

Years ago she lived on stardust and dreams, but that didn't put food on the table or keep her children clothed. She liked what she had become, but often wondered if her husband missed the wild, impetuous young girl he married, the girl who was fresh, vibrant and not so care worn.

She wanted to wear the riding pants she had grown accustomed to for her work around the ranch, but today required her to be more conservative. She opted for a close cut full length skirt. It pooled at her feet and she sat comfortably at the vanity as there were not layers of hoops underneath to hinder her. She shunned hoops as often as her friends complained about them-which was all the time. Gossip, even about such trivia as fashion, was an aspect of her social circle she found particularly disdainful. She looked at it this way: Why complain about a problem, when you can do something about it?

While her friends wore the hoops and complained, Victoria simply never wore them.

The bodice was still the same size she had worn since she'd married and even in her opinion she still looked rather girlish in form. The bustle provided more curve in the back and the shoulders gave her the hourglass figure most ladies worked so hard for...and frankly ate so hard for. She had kept her thin form, another fashion taboo. She wasn't plump enough for a rich man's wife. She knew the ladies her age were merely jealous when they gossiped about her waif-like appearance. She smiled and added blush to her cheeks.

Won't Tom be surprised when she shows up in Strawberry? He will welcome her by gathering her in his arms and whispering 'I love you.' He would kiss her cheek and she would feel reassured. Why did she feel the need to court Tom all over again? She had somehow gotten the idea she needed to win him, but she knew this was not necessary. He was not leaving her. He had never really left her...

But still, Dr. Merar's visit had been a perplexing one, deeply detailed and emotionally charged when he spoke of Nick's awful ordeal in Strawberry, but when it came to other topics-the ones involving Victoria's husband-the man searched carefully for words. Over breakfast just a few short hours ago, he had offered for Victoria to visit he and his wife. Just her alone, not Tom and her. When she pressed him, he just reiterated the fact that she hadn't visited in such a long time and his wife had missed her.

Victoria frowned at the thought of that particular lie. Helen couldn't miss her. They saw each other every week after church at the meetings of the Women's Educational Society. They both were prominent leaders and rarely missed a meeting. No, Helen would never say she missed Victoria. She might say she wished Victoria would stay home for once because they often disagreed on the direction the society was headed. It was a 'friendly' rivalry at best.

No, there was something else going on and it had to do with her husband. She had learned over the years to trust her instincts when it came to Tom Barkley. She knew him better than he knew himself. He was a man who could get into trouble and without fail, attempted to cover his tracks when he knew he was in the wrong.

Judging by the doctor's missing details about Tom, Victoria concluded her husband was once again covering his tracks...but about what? What could he have possibly gotten into in such a short time in Strawberry? It wasn't his first visit there. Perhaps the problem lay in the past with his business dealings. Bill Tennant was from that area. Perhaps the two were connected somehow.

Victoria cleared her head. It was too much to speculate on and barely any facts. Whatever it was that Tom had done, it couldn't possibly have an impact on their business now or their family...or could it? Whatever had happened, it likely had everything do with his pride...but that brought other questions she could not contemplate without further investigation.

She had to go to Strawberry to get her answers. She stood and opened her purse. She sifted through and counted the bills she carried. When she realized she needed more, she went to Tom's cash box...the one he hid from everyone else in the family...the one he thought only he knew about...

She dug under the folded undergarments in the dresser drawer and removed the small wooden tobacco box. When she opened it, it still smelled of cigars with the added scent of new bills. She removed a twenty. He never missed the small amounts she took. Or perhaps he never mentioned it missing. She folded the bill and slipped the box back into place, leaving the thermal underwear exactly as she had found it.

Slipping the bill into her purse, she fastened the clasp and headed out of the bedroom.

"Mother?" Audra called. "I'm going riding with Rebecca. We're going to meet on the South range, I just wanted to-" Audra had climbed to the top of the stairs and stopped, staring at her mother. Audra was resplendent in her favorite blue morning dress. This was a girl who did not shun hoops and lots of golden curls. "Where are you going?" Audra asked. "Into town?"

"I was just coming down to tell you," Victoria said. "I'm going to Strawberry to meet your father and the boys."

"Oh, please may I go?" Audra said with wide hope-filled eyes. "I want to see Nick."

"That's why I'm going, to bring him home."

"Can't I go with you?"

"Darling, I want you to stay here with Gene. I will bring Nick home either tonight or tomorrow morning. As a matter of fact, I am certain he will have a wonderful homecoming if you make him a batch of your delightful ginger snaps. You know he loves them."

Audra smiled. "He does. It's hard to keep him from the cookie jar when my ginger snaps are inside."

"Wouldn't he love it if you made some for him today?"

"He would, but..."

"Then it's settled."

"But Mother, I-"

"Ask Silas if you have all of the ingredients. He will make sure you're supplied with everything you need," Victoria insisted. Audra would persist if her thoughts weren't derailed. Her daughter was tenacious when she had an idea, and she had a close bond with Nick and Tom. Keeping her from them would be a major task. It would not do for Audra to go to Strawberry when all the facts hadn't yet fallen into place. Victoria caught the look of defiance in Audra's eyes. "Listen to me, Audra. I am going alone. You are to remain here with Gene until I return. Is that clear?"

"Yes ma'am," Audra said.

"You may go riding with Rebecca as long as Gene accompanies you."

"Mother!" She exclaimed, but she shut her mouth. "I'm sorry, but you know Gene teases her. He hates having to go along."

"He either goes with you or you stay here in the house," said Victoria. "I will not have my young lady riding out alone."

"Boys do what they want. Gene's nine and he already goes places by himself where I'm not allowed."

"Audra," Victoria softened. "It is a man's world. There are things they can do that a lady doesn't. It's a fact of life. In time you will understand, but until then, you must obey my rules to the letter."

"I understand," Audra said. "I don't like it, but I understand."

"Understanding is fine, but what I need is a promise."

"I promise I won't ride without my baby brother Eugene."

Victoria knew that once she got a promise from Audra, she would not break it. She smiled. "Thank you, Darling."

Audra propped her elbows on the railing and watched her elegant mother descend the staircase. "I love you, Mother. Come home soon!"

Mother looked up and smiled. "I love you, Audra." She crossed the room and disappeared into the dining room, probably to talk to Silas about ginger snaps. The jar was already full of them. Audra had made them yesterday when Mother and Dr. Merar were in the parlor talking for so long after dinner. Neither of them had noticed the scent of delicious cookies being baked, so Audra just hid them away for when the whole family was under the same roof.

She propped her chin in her hand.

"What's up, Sis?" Gene asked. He liked to read in the mornings when Father was away and he had just now come out of his bedroom to start his day.

"Nothing."

"Come on."

"You missed breakfast," Audra complained. "You were eating words instead of real food."

"Words are food for the mind," Gene said. "Besides, I don't like to eat so early. So what's up?"

Audra glanced at him. "Mother says you have to go riding with me."

Gene grimaced. "Never."

"You have to or I can't go."

"Go where?" Gene said. "And don't tell me it's with Rebecca."

Audra straightened and grasped the rail. Inspiration dawned. She turned to her brother. "Not with Rebecca. It's a secret mission."

"A secret mission?" Gene's interest was piqued. "What secret mission?"

"Mother is going to Strawberry to see Nick," Audra said. "She doesn't want me to go. I want to find out why."

"If she doesn't want you to go, then you shouldn't go."

"Don't you want to find out what's going on with Nick?" she asked. "He was kidnapped you know, and he was hurt."

Gene frowned, and anger came to his eyes. "I know that! But Dr. Merar said he's fine now he's going to be home soon."

"How do we know that?" Audra said. "They always tell us something different because we're just kids, and they tell me even less because I'm a girl."

"I know you hate that."

"Hate what?"

"Being a girl."

Audra waved her hands in frustration. "You don't get it! Something is going on and we won't know about it unless we find out for ourselves. Are you coming with me?"

"Mother said no," Gene responded. "I'm inclined to follow her dictates...that is unless we can bargain."

"What?" Audra said. "English please."

"What can you give me?"

Audra rolled her eyes. "Money. I have ten dollars in my piggy bank."

"I don't know," Gene hedged. "If I get caught, the punishment will be far more severe than a mere ten dollars is worth."

"It's all I have."

"Ten's good."

They shook hands and the deal was made.


	33. Chapter 33

Nick came back into the hotel a little more dejected-looking than when he had left this morning. Jarrod glanced over at him from his toast and coffee. His own head pounded like a bass drum from all of that alcohol last night. He had hoped Nick would have been feeling the same way, but he was pretty spry when he hopped out of bed early to see Mariano before he left Strawberry for home. Maybe the hangover caught up with him, though. He didn't look all that energetic anymore.

"You feeling all right Nick? Your head hurting at all?"

Nick scowled. "Of course it hurts! I just don't wish suffering on others like you do." He covered the bandage behind his ear. "You need to help me with this thing. Keeps coming loose in the back."

Jarrod wiped his mouth with a napkin and noticed that dust covered Nick's dark trousers and there was a smudge of dirt on his shoulder too. "Did you get into a fight?"

"Minor scuffle. Minor."

"With whom at seven in the morning?" Jarrod asked as he rose from his chair.

"Don't get up. It's done. Father pulled 'em off me."

"Them?!" said an alarmed Jarrod. He came around the table. "You just sit on that sofa. I'll get the bandages."

Nick plopped onto the sofa and chuckled. "I wasn't hurt, Jarrod. They just...pushed me down and spat on me. Nothing to be alarmed about."

Jarrod pulled the doctor's leather bag from a small table and sat on the couch beside his brother. He looked him over, but saw that there was not a new scratch on him, just dirt. "Who were they?" he asked as he opened the bag.

"Oh, just two of Matt Simmons's buddies," Nick replied. "But Heath said they weren't really friends. They were more like cronies. Martha got their attention by howling most of the night from her cell. Grief apparently, or was it anger? Mariano didn't really know. He didn't get a wink of sleep and he sure looked it. Her wailing attracted a small, but rough crowd. Sheriff had to fire warning shots to finally get them to disperse."

"I didn't hear a shot." Jarrod eased the old bandage from Nick's hair. The stitches in Nick's scalp looked undamaged and the injury was still a fairly clean curved line. He cut a new square of gauze. "So the town is heated up over the killings."

"I'd say a few folks are heated up. Not all," said Nick. "We still got a good breakfast at the cafe. You should have come."

Jarrod frowned as he cleaned the wound. "I wasn't ready to eat. I don't have a cast iron stomach like you. You have the stomach of a grizzly bear."

"Thank you."

Jarrod shook his head and readied a fresh bandage. "You saw Mariano off then. Did Father go home with Heath?"

"Yep. Wants to see how the other half lives."

"Nick, as much as we like Heath...he's a good kid, you know?" Jarrod said as he placed the new bandage over the stitches. "Hold it so I can tape it in place." Nick pressed his fingers on the gauze. Jarrod continued. "As much as we like Heath, our Mother has never met him. Chances are she won't be so welcoming."

"I've thought of that."

"Have you?" Jarrod said. "You seem so enthralled with this new brother. I'm not certain you're seeing the whole picture."

Nick cast him a sidelong glare. "Somebody tried to beat me up today because of Heath. I just might have a clearer picture than you."

"Are you thinking about Mother? And Audra and Gene? What about them?"

Nick pulled away and gave Jarrod a hard look. "I've never for one second stopped thinking about them, but what can I do?"

"You can be on Mother's side. Support her."

"And what in hell do you think I would do?"

Jarrod put away the tape and supplies and set the bag on the floor. "You forgave Father pretty quickly at the ranch house. Almost as if he'd done nothing wrong. And you were quick to go out for breakfast with him and Heath this morning."

"Aw for the love of-" Nick slapped his knees. "I can't believe what I'm hearing. I was hungry, so I ate. And by the way, Jarrod...Heath is here whether you like it or not. He's not some vague ethical concept. He's not a corrupt moral condition. He's a kid! He's our brother for God's sake. I forgave Father for Heath. Don't you see that? If I hold a grudge against Father then that would mean I don't accept Heath as my brother, and I can't turn my back on him after all that he's given up for me!" Nick leaned forward and counted on his fingers. "He gave up his family. He gave up his town. He gave up his home, all for me! A brother he knew absolutely nothing about when all of this fell into his lap. He shot a man so I would live. I won't forget that. That's why I forgave my father, so my brother can still have a family. It may not be what Heath wants, but it's what he needs. And if you think that means I'm taking Father's side, well then, to hell with you! I'm not taking sides."

Nick got up and strode across the room to the staircase. He took the stairs two at a time.

"Mother will need your full support, Nick," Jarrod called up to him. "This news could destroy her."

Nick paused on the staircase and gripped the railing as if he wanted to break it to bits. "It could very well destroy everything!" Nick growled. "Are you satisfied that I agree with you?" He jogged the rest of the way up and disappeared into his room.

Jarrod heard the bedsprings creak as his brother fell onto the bed and then he heard his brother's short, frustrated groan. He thought on what Nick had said and realized how right he was about so many things. He got up and went to the parlor to finish his coffee. "Brother Nick, you would have made a fairly decent lawyer!"

Nick heard his brother and called back from his room. "Not on your life!"

* * *

Silas had said a worried goodbye to Mrs. Barkley before she set off to Strawberry. He had offered to go along, but she wanted him and her children to remain here at the house. What was he to do, but follow instructions? He was helpless in this matter. He wanted desperately to go along with her and help mitigate the problem, but it was out of his hands. He worried about the future of this family he loved so much. He had been with them from the very beginning. He remembered clearly the day Jarrod was born and the pride in Tom Barkley's face when he saw his son for the first time. He had been with them through it all, and he had seen Tom and Victoria in turmoil before, but it was never as bad as this situation had to potential to be. They were both strong-willed folks. Even so, he worried that Victoria would not stand this kind of humiliation. She had strong roots in the community, but a bastard child could destroy even the most solid of foundations. What would Tom do without Victoria? Silas could not even contemplate the thought.

"Oh, Lord," he muttered and wiped the counter with more vigor, but he'd wiped it down several times in the last hour. Because of his excessive worry, the Barkley's owned the cleanest kitchen in California. Only when Audra dropped the lid on top of the cookie jar, did he turn and see her standing there. She watched him while innocently chewing a cookie. She was dressed in a riding habit.

"Are you all right, Silas?" she asked around a mouthful of cookie. She brushed crumbs from her habit.

"That's why you don't speak with food in your mouth," Silas said. "You know better."

"I'm sorry."

"There, you did it again. Hush now." He wiped the counter some more and then asked, "And where do you think you're going? Your mother only just left an hour ago. She doesn't want you riding all over creation when she isn't home."

"I asked her if I could go before she left. Didn't she say anything to you about it?"

Silas searched his memory. It was all a jumble. "Oh yes. Yes she did say so." He gave her a long hard look. "Miss Audra, you know where you can and cannot go. I expect you to follow the rules."

"Don't worry. Gene's going with me."

"Don't give me that 'innocent me' look," Silas said. He knew Audra better then she realized. She was a girl born to take advantage. "I expect both of you to be back in two hours."

"But that hardly gives me enough time to get my horse out of the stable," Audra complained.

"You still got your Daddy's pocket watch?"

"Of course I do. He gave it to me." She pulled it out of her coat pocket and showed it to him.

"Two hours or I'm saying no. And you know I mean it."

"Two hours then. You drive a hard bargain." She pocketed the watch.

"That's the only kind you seem to understand. Now get going. You've lost three minutes."

She turned and sprinted out of the kitchen.

"I'll come looking for you at a minute after! You don't want me to do that."

"I'll be back on time!" she said. "Don't worry!"

Silas returned to wiping the counter. "Lord watch over this family."

* * *

Three hours later, Gene started to panic. He wiped sweat from his brow. They had found their mother's trail and had ridden in hot pursuit. But they still hadn't seen her. "What if Silas comes after us?" Gene asked again with real concern in his voice.

"Come on," replied Audra. "What's he going to do?"

"Whup us both," Gene told her. "Like he did the last time I followed you on a hare-brained idea. There's still time to turn back. I think we ought to."

"We're committed," Audra said. "Besides, you're mine. I paid you. You owe it to me to see this through."

"I don't remember signing any contract."

"Coward!"

"I'm not a coward!" Gene cried, gripping the reins angrily. "I'm prudent."

"Stop using words I don't understand!" Audra huffed. "You know it isn't fair!"

"Forget it." Gene studied the ground below. "I don't see her tracks anymore. We're definitely lost."

"We're not lost!"

"Yes we are!" Gene yelled. "I should never have listened to you!"

"That's the first intelligent thing I've heard you say in a long time, Mister Gene."

The kids turned to see a very indignant Silas staring down at the both of them from the saddle of his own horse. Audra trembled. The last time she had seen Silas wearing a black hat and cowboy boots, it did not bode well for her backside. She whipped around in defense of her rear, but then saw that she had much more to be afraid of. Her mother was with him. Apparently the two of them had found each other first.

"I should have known my family would not let me do this alone," said an equally cool voice of Victoria. "We are to go into Strawberry together. May God have mercy on us all."


	34. Chapter 34

Tom knew Heath wanted to go home to see Hannah by himself. The boy had even said in no uncertain terms that he didn't want Tom with him. If this was to be his last breakfast with Hannah, he wanted to have it "A-LONE!" Without the shadow of a brand new overbearing father hanging over him. The heat in the boys eyes and the fire in his tone gave Tom pause. He had expected rejection from the outset, but had not imagined it to be so vehement. There was a lot of ground to cover as far as this father and son relationship was concerned.

Tom told Heath he had no option. He was going to see Hannah's place whether he liked it or not. He needed to understand something of how Heath had been raised and his relationship to this woman who had been a mother to him for the past six months. Heath grudgingly led him to Hannah's cabin. They walked the entire distance in complete silence with Heath several steps ahead, at times stomping the dust into the air, kicking rocks across the trail, and muttering curses under his breath that were not worthy of the most seasoned sailor.

The breakfast they ate back in town had been a quick one. Heath, stating he would be having a big meal with Hannah, only drank coffee as he watched Nick and his father devour eggs and bacon at the cafe. They had wakened the owner and paid her a days wages to open early. It was shortly after that when the scuffle broke out between Nick and the two hooligans who called themselves friends of Matt Simmons. Poor Nick didn't seem to have much luck these days. The scamps had caught him unaware just as he stepped out of the restaurant. Since he'd gotten his head injury, his balance wasn't completely up to par yet. Catching him off guard, the ruffians took him down easily. Tom at first thought he might have to end up killing one of them or both but it didn't go that far. Neither of the fellows had the guts to fight back once he stepped in and threw a couple of hard, clean punches to get them off his hapless middle son.

He wondered how many more skirmishes would break out before they left this dusty little town. Though its population had dwindled considerably since he was here thirteen years ago, Strawberry hadn't changed all that much since he was here last, at least in tone. It was still as ornery as ever.

Heath walked up to a white picket fence that enclosed the yard of a faded green cabin. It was a simple structure, old, yet well-built from the looks of it. The yard, though dry, had some neatly planted azaleas, some of which were in bloom and provided a dusting of pink. At the corner of the house was a larger scraggly burnt bush. The fire had charred the paint on the side of the cabin. Heath noticed this and hurried to the porch.

He opened the door. "Hannah!"

Tom heard her soft reply to him from inside the cabin. She did not seem to be upset, but was the cheerful woman she had been when Tom first met her. Whatever happened, she had evidently come to terms with it.

"But who would do such a thing?" Heath was saying when Tom entered the house and shut the screen door.

"Oh it's just a prank. I wouldn't make no more of it," Hannah replied. She looked up when Tom entered and her eyes sparkled. "Mr. Barkley! What a pleasant surprise. Are you here to have breakfast with us?"

Heath glared at his father. "He already ate. He really doesn't need to be here."

"Heath!" Hannah replied. "You just settle yourself down! Your momma didn't raise you to be rude!" She turned to Tom, a little flustered. "Will you breakfast with us?"

"I will have some coffee, if you don't mind, ma'am," Tom said, removing his hat. "Heath is right. I ate in town."

"That'll be just fine." She wiped her hands on her apron. "You just have a seat at the table then. I'll get your coffee."

Heath sat across from his father at the little kitchen table and sent him the hardest, meanest glare a boy of twelve could muster. Tom managed to ignore the death glare and took in his surroundings. This was not a rich home, but it was a well-kept one. There were flowers in the windowsill over the sink, clothes billowed on the line outside, a pleasant breeze floated in through the windows and brought with it the scent of the creek, the waters of which he could hear rushing nearby. They did not have much by the way of material things. What they had was sufficient for not a privileged life, but one that was clean and respectful. He drummed his fingers on the checkered tablecloth as Heath bored holes in him with his eyes.

"Here's your coffee," Hanna said, " and the sugar." She set a bowl in front of him. It was white sugar reserved for guests, Tom realized. Heath watched him put one spoonful of the sugar into the black coffee. Tom didn't dare take another so as to avoid insulting his son further. He replaced the top on the sugar bowl and took a sip of the hot brew. "Mmm. Quite good, Miss Hannah."

"Thank you. Now are you sure you don't want pancakes? I made a mountain of 'em this morning."

"You know, pancakes would be tasty with coffee. I think I will."

"Oh good!"

Heath did not budge nor make a move even when Hannah set his plate in front of him. The pancakes stacked nearly as high as his nose and a pile of yellow scrambled eggs leaned against the flapjack tower. The boy's stomach growled in reaction to aroma of maple and butter, but still, he did not remove his glare from the object of his hatred, Tom Barkley.

Hannah set the syrup next to Heath and picking up his fork, she slapped the back of his hand smartly with the curved side. That broke his stare. He rubbed his hand and looked up at Hannah.

"Eat," she said without the hint of a smile.

Humiliated and frustrated with all of the adults in his life, he picked up the syrup and began to drizzle the warm sauce on his pancakes. A dark cloud hung over him. It was plain to see.

Tom poured syrup on his pancakes and pushed a fork through the fluffy stack. Two breakfasts wouldn't kill him. He would just eat slowly. He popped the buttery bits into his mouth. "Mmm!" he said with his mouth full of maple flavor. He swallowed the first bite. "This is delicious! I'm glad I left room for them."

Hannah smiled and sat beside Heath with her own plate and coffee.

"I was hopin' to enjoy my meal," mumbled Heath.

"Heath, please."

"But he's here!" Heath said indicating Tom with a jerk of his chin. "I can't breathe with him in the house. Let alone eat."

"Now, Heath-"

"Ma'am," Tom said, raising his hand. "It's all right. The boy has every right to be angry. Heath, you can talk to me. I won't bite."

"You don't bite maybe, but you do other things," Heath replied. He cut into his pancakes. "Jarrod aint too happy with you right now."

"I don't expect he is," Tom replied. "But that matter is between Jarrod and me."

Heath shrugged and took his first bite of pancakes and egg and then he began to focus on the food.

Tom lifted his coffee mug. "What happened last night, Hannah? After you got home? I saw the burned bush outside."

Hannah shifted uncomfortably. "Oh, I don't know what time it was, but it was dark. I woke up and everything in the house was bathed in orange light. Took me a minute or two to wake up and realize there was a blaze outside."

"Do you have any idea who did it?"

Hannah glanced at Heath, who stopped chewing to look at her. His gaze sharpened. He swallowed. "The Brightons?"

"Fraid so," Hannah said. "I didn't want you to know."

Heath held his fork in a tight fist. Syrup ran down to his fingers. "I'll kill 'em. I swear I'll kill 'em!"

"Not before you finish your breakfast," said Hannah.

"Who are the Brightons?" Tom asked.

"Two boys who-"

"Need a good ass whuppin'!" Heath inserted.

"Mind that tongue, Heath Thomson!" Hannah demanded. "You will not use that kind of talk here! A lady can only take so much from her boy!"

"I'm sorry." Heath grumbled as he stabbed another forkful of egg. "But they got some come uppance anyway. I'm gonna give it to 'em."

Tom worked at keeping a straight face. The boy had backbone. He didn't doubt Heath would back up his words with action. "Why would they do such a thing?" he asked. "Are they delinquents?"

"They are two very troubling youths, Mr. Barkley. And they must not ever sleep. They been working on that bridge all day dawn until dusk and then go home to do those chores. They're family has been ill, only the boys never got sick at all. Nobody's there to take care of them or to mind them. Nobody's cooking for them. They must run on meanness and nothing else."

"Are you talking about those boys who run the ferry? Those are the one's who tried to set fire to your house?" Tom had given them each five dollars. They probably bought the lighter fluid with his money. "Where do they live?"

"Why?" Heath said, his mouth full of pancake. His cheek puffed out on one side. "What are you planning to do? Spank 'em?"

"Are you storing that food for the winter?" Tom remarked.

Heath swallowed. "Why do you want to know where they live? This aint got nothing to do with you."

Tom set his coffee mug on the table. "It has everything to do with me," he said. Seemed that everything happening in Strawberry had his fingerprint on it. "They promised me they would stay out of trouble, and by God they are going to keep their word."

"Promised you?"

"When I crossed the river. I had a talk with them. They had said they collapsed the bridge. They said they had learned their lesson..." It wasn't long after that the problems between he and Jarrod came to a head. He had struck Jarrod and his son had not fought back. Tom had never seen such tightly reined restraint. The memory shamed him. He had been under so much stress that he had reacted to his son as he had reacted to those lowlifes who jumped Nick. He hadn't thought it through and he knew it wasn't a stellar moment for him as a father, and the continuing silence between he and Jarrod on this matter would only fester into full blown estrangement if he did not face it straight on. Jarrod deserved an apology. "I should have listened to my own advice by that river. I should have understood it all along."

Heath raised a brow and gave him a cautious look.

"Well," Hannah said, getting up with the empty coffee cups. "I am sure they won't be back. It was just a prank."

Heath watched Hannah move to the sink, and when she got the water going, he spoke in a low voice. "They'll be back. Sure as day. I can take you to where they live."

Tom let himself smile, but only slightly. He leaned forward with his hands clasped in front of him. "Why don't you finish that breakfast and we'll see what we can do about those Brightons."

Heath smiled. "It'll sure be interesting to see what you do with them."

"If you're looking for that ass whuppin', you will be sorely disappointed," Tom remarked. He just wanted to speak to the family. That was it.

Heath released a laugh, and continued to eat.

At least the boy had let down his guard. Tom withdrew his pipe from his vest pocket and contemplated Leah's complicated son.


	35. Chapter 35

By early afternoon, Jarrod was restless. Impatient to be home, waiting in Strawberry for Father to return from wherever he had gone with Heath was nearly too much to bear. Breakfast ended long ago. He saw no excuse for the man's absence and the more time that passed without Father, the more tense and frustrated Jarrod became. He and Nick lingered at the hotel enduring the heated glares of passersby and once someone threw a rock at a ground floor window. It did not penetrate the glass, but there was a spider web crack where the rock had connected at a corner pane.

Father, it seemed, had taken a mini vacation from his poor choices by leaving town. He should be here to suffer with his sons.

Jarrod remembered what he'd said to Heath last night, and showing pride in him, but perhaps it was the alcohol that tempered his mood. Heath was a likable boy, but no matter what kind of person he was, he was living proof of Father's infidelity. Father was intent on bringing the boy home and hadn't once considered the effect this would have on Mother. Jarrod's heart had hardened over the morning hours. He wasn't so inclined to forgive anymore, and his anger toward his father began to fester.

He decided to pack his things and even Nick's and Father's just so they could get an early start tomorrow morning and get back home where they belonged . He was in his room folding his clothes into his saddlebags when Nick came bursting in.

"They're here!" he breathlessly exclaimed.

Jarrod turned around, shirt in mid-fold over his arm when he saw panic in Nick's wide eyes.

"What?," he asked calmly. "Who's here? Father and Heath?"

"No, you idiot! Mother! She's here!" Nick exclaimed as he rushed to the window that overlooked the street. He pulled back a curtain. "They're coming this way. It's Mother, Audra, Gene, and even Silas. All hell is going to break loose in Strawberry, and we're not ready for it!"

Jarrod had walked around the bed and stood beside Nick. He looked out the window and sure enough, the entire family was riding into Strawberry. Nick's agitation was contagious and palpable. The heavy breathing is what finally got to Jarrod. He turned away from the window and grabbed his lunatic brother by the front of his shirt. "Get a hold of yourself! You need to be calm! This is not your problem, don't you understand? Father is the one who should panic, not us!"

Nick's eyes focused on his brother, and he relaxed a bit and nodded. "You're right. You're right. I don't know what got into me."

Jarrod released him. "Understandable under the circumstances. You've grown close to Heath and you don't want to see him hurt more than he is already." He tossed his shirt on the bed. "We need to get down there."

"What'll we say?"

"Nothing," Jarrod said. "We'll welcome them. They're here to see you. You were kidnapped after all. They'll want to know you're all right. And I'm sure you can keep them occupied with tales of your glorious deeds until Father comes back . Only-leave Heath out of the telling."

"How can I tell anything about what happened without mentioning Heath?" Nick said with an incredulous laugh. "He saved my life!"

"Leave him out I tell you!"

"I can't do that." Nick's face went dark with anger. "Mother ought to know. The sooner the better."

"She'll know about this soon enough!" Jarrod snapped. "This is Father's lie! Let him be the one to confess it."

Nick shot him a hard glare and left the room.

An uneasy feeling settled into the pit of Jarrod's stomach. Mother wasn't the only one who would be hurt by this. Audra and Gene would be crushed. If it came to choosing sides in this family battle, Jarrod knew who he would be fighting for. He wondered about Nick though. How could his brother keep quiet when Heath's actions were so entrenched in everything that happened in Strawberry? He hurriedly followed Nick downstairs and prayed that God would provide the best outcome to all of this, for it was truly out of their mortal hands.

When he got to the front door of the hotel, Jarrod wondered where Nick had disappeared to. His brother was nowhere to be seen. He wasn't outside either. He stepped onto the porch and whipped his head around. "Nick!" he whispered loudly.

No answer. His brother had vanished. Jarrod had expected fear from him, but not abandonment for Christ's sake.

He stepped off the porch and into the street. He raised his arm in a wave and smiled. He was glad to see them after all, even if their arrival signaled the end of the world.

* * *

Victoria rarely rode side saddled on the ranch. She hated giving in to the customs arbitrarily set aside for her gender. She could ride like the best of the men on the ranch and they knew it and gave her the respect she deserved, but to the outside world, she was first a woman and she had to calculate how to best present herself until she understood everything about her husbands dealings in this dusty old town. She had felt deep inside that her arrival at Strawberry should be dignified. It was a way of saying to everyone she was a lady of high-station. She was not only the wife of an important man, but of great import herself. Her dignified appearance had an affect on the men at the ferry who instantly showed them across the river without any delay. Silas's presence was also a boon. He spoke to the men and paid the fare. Her children kept silent and obeyed her every word-they knew what was already in store for them for their disobedience in following her.

Strawberry was not the town she remembered, but she hadn't expected it to be. The mines dried up. The Barkley's sold their shares long ago and at a loss. As she rode in, she took into account the quiet and curious stares of the people in the street. It was as if they were witnessing a queen arriving in a conquered country. These people were destitute, just scraping by. What on Earth had possessed Nick to come here in the first place? How had Bill Tennant lured him? These questions dogged her relentlessly. Now she would finally have her answers.

As they neared the center of town, she saw her eldest son wave to them, and she felt a weight being lifted from her shoulders. Finally, someone who would help her to understand this situation. Jarrod was her light, her ambassador to the shadowy world in which her wayward husband resided.

* * *

"Why aren't you helping your lovely sister down?" Jarrod asked the already dismounted Gene after they arrived at the front of the Strawberry hotel.

Gene looked at him in bewilderment. "She can do it herself. Does it all the time."

"Not when a gentleman is present," Jarrod said. He stretched a hand to Audra who graciously smiled down at him. Very much the lady.

"Gene is no gentleman," Audra said and she stuck out her tongue at her little brother. She took Jarrod's offered hand and eased out of the saddle.

"Jarrod, does a lady act like that?" Gene quipped.

Jarrod ignored the question and offered a hand to his mother. She dismounted gracefully. "Jarrod," she said warmly. She hugged him. "I'm so glad to see you."

Her hand was still in his when he replied. "I'm very pleased to see you, too. All of you. I'm surprised, though. We were planning to return tomorrow." He instantly regretted opening his mouth and causing the doubt to appear in her sharp gaze.

She looked up at him, searching his eyes for hidden meaning, causing Jarrod to feel ashamed. His father was at this very moment with the boy he sired with another woman. What could he say to his mother? The one who deserved all of the good in the world? He never imagined he would be the one to break his mother's heart. He couldn't bring himself to do it now and most especially not with a secret that belonged entirely to his father. He looked down at her small gloved hand and he covered it with his, putting on a smile before he again looked into her eyes. "You'll want to see Nick. He's inside. I don't know what's taking him so long."

When he tried to turn toward the hotel, she suddenly pulled her hand from his and reached up to softly touch the fading bruise on his cheek. He looked into her discerning eyes and knew the truth was not far from revealing itself to her.

She said it quietly so as not to alarm his younger siblings. "Jarrod, you're keeping something from me."

"Everything's fine, Mother." Jarrod said quietly, but he knew it wasn't enough. He sighed. "Father and I had a...disagreement."

"It isn't over," she said, her brows slightly raised. Concern filled her voice.

Again, Jarrod could not meet her gaze. He saw that even Audra and Gene were watching the two of them. Silas, astutely redirected their attentions and led them to the porch to 'get out of the hot sun.'

When Victoria received no response from her eldest and most favored son, her lips thinned and a look of resigned determination settled onto her face. "What is the disagreement about?"

"I'm sorry," he tried to sound strong, but the pain inside withered his voice to a whisper. "When Father comes back, he'll have to be the one to tell you." He turned away, not wanting to face her with all of the pain and guilt warring inside him, most especially without the aid of the wily brother who uncovered the hideous affair and set this calamity in motion. "Where IS that troublesome brother of mine?" he called. "Nick! Mother is here to see you! Get out here!"

Nick appeared rather sheepishly from the darkened doorway as if he had been standing just to the side watching the scene through the darkened window. When Jarrod caught his brother's eye, he mouthed the word, 'coward,' and instantly received a brief scowl of indignation in return. But to his credit, Nick let it go and gave himself completely to Mother with a big hug and smiled his best at the children who clamored for his attention. "The whole family in Strawberry! Who would have ever imagined?" Nick exclaimed as he hugged each one in turn. All of them were touching him at once, hugging him, patting him, as if to make certain he was real. "I'm alright," Nick told them. "What's all the fuss?"

Jarrod turned from the impossibly happy scene, and as a ruse, tended to the horses. He could not be with the family until his anguish diminished or Mother would be able to read the truth in his face. He glanced back and saw that Silas was the only witness to Jarrod's true reaction to their arrival. When their eyes met, Silas looked down and fiddled with the brim of his hat, brushing off non-existent dust. Jarrod took the reins of Mother's and Audra's horses and began to lead them to the town stables. He still held his resentment toward Silas for not revealing Father's secret to him at the house, whether or not it was fair, he could not help himself. For his entire life, he had trusted Silas completely until that moment in the kitchen when he realized that the man was only steadfastly loyal to one member of the family, and that was Tom Barkley.

He noticed that Silas followed behind at a good distance with his own horse and Gene's mount. Jarrod knew he would have to talk with him. He had to drop this resentment because right now, he felt as if he had done the same as Silas. He had not revealed Tom Barkley's terrible secret to his own mother. He supposed that made Silas and he close companions on this rocky emotional road. He stopped walking and waited for Silas to catch up.


End file.
